We Don't go Through This Alone
by Vampire-Badger
Summary: Your ancestors are always with you, and their memories are always in your blood. Desmond Miles is eight years old when he starts seeing his ancestors, everywhere. Callum Lynch is seventeen. Neither of them has any idea how, or why, or what that might mean. But it's going to change absolutely everything.
1. Chapter 1

June 1995

-/-

The first time Desmond meets Ezio, he has no idea what's going on. He hears a confusing mess of words in a language he doesn't know but _understands_. He feels something like fingers in his head, reshaping his brain, forcing in something that shouldn't be there. He wakes up and finds himself twisted around in his sheets, covered in sweat and panting slightly like he's just run all night.

It's at least midnight, but there's no clock in Desmond's room and he doesn't know specifically. Doesn't matter. It's absolutely quiet, which means the whole rest of the Farm is asleep. Even the generators that Desmond is used to hearing more or less all the time are quiet. It's weird, and he doesn't like it, and he wants to go back to sleep but he also kind of wants to tell his parents that he had a really weird, creepy dream. But his dad will just tell him that eight is too old to come bothering them in the middle of the night.

So Desmond sits down on his bed instead, and closes his eyes. He can still sort of hear the voices, if he concentrates. For a long time, he sits there with his eyelids squeezed shut and his back pressed to the wall. He can hear the voices, whispering, and even though it is creepy—especially at first—it sort of starts to lull him to sleep. Desmond rests his head on the wall behind him, listening to the whispers of someone else's life in a language he doesn't understand.

Desmond doesn't understand it, not then, not yet. But this is the moment when he decides to let it keep happening anyway. It's not so bad, maybe. And anyway they're only dreams and whispers. It's not even like it's anything real.

-/-

He's not the only one having dreams that night, although of course he has no way of knowing that tonight. But there is someone else waking up from dreams that don't belong to him. Callum Lynch is alone tonight, which is lucky maybe because he wakes up screaming, and even that's not enough to drown out the whispers. They're in his head, they can't be drowned out by anything he hears and he's absolutely positive in that moment that he's going crazy.

Seventeen years old is too old to cry but too young to go crazy. Cal rubs at his face and crawls into the shadows under the overpass where he's been staying for the past week or so. He doesn't want the screaming to draw attention from the cops, or a street gang, or anyone else. It's not safe here (it's not safe anywhere, it hasn't been for a long time but it's so much worse here, now, as he sits and shakes and waits for the voices to fade).

"Mom?" he whispers, into the predawn quiet. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine she's still there with him. "Mom I, uh… I'm hearing stuff, like… in my head, and I… Mom I'm _scared_ …"

Cal sits there, shaking under the force of the whispers, even as they start to gradually fade away. He doesn't want to hear voices and whispers. He wants to be normal and sane and go home, wherever home is, and find his mom waiting there for him.

And it's never going to happen. Because his mom is dead, because his dad _killed_ her, because he's been running ever since and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to let himself stop.

-/-

When Desmond wakes up, he's still sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, head lolling to one side. There's a little bit of early morning sunlight peeking in through the window, and he can hear the Farm waking up outside.

He knows his mom will come in soon to get him up and moving, so Desmond yawns and stretches and rubs the crusts out of his eyes. Then when his eyes are open, he realizes there's something… someone here that isn't _supposed_ to be here. A man, grown up but not quite as old as his parents, was crouched in front of his bed.

"How did you get in here?" Desmond whispers. He pulls his knees back toward his chest and hugs them a little. He should be scared but this man isn't scary. He wears funny clothes, a long white robe with a hood pulled down around his shoulders. He smiles a little and reaches forward to pat Desmond on the hand. Says something that Desmond (somehow) both understands and doesn't.

"You'll be safe with us," he says.

"What's that mean?" Desmond asks. "Who's us?"

The man only smiles, and Desmond smiles uncertainly back, around his missing front tooth. He trusts this man for some reason. There's something that just… makes Desmond feel really comofortable with him. "Okay," he tells the man quietly. "You can stay if you want to."

And that's when he looks up, and sees a small _crowd_ of people behind the man. Some look a lot like him, others seem like strangers. "Whoa," Desmond whispers, looking up at all of them.

-/-

When Cal manages to pull himself together and stop… _sulking_ (he's not going to say crying, because he can't afford to cry), the first thing he sees is a man with his _face_ , wearing some kind of ancient looking robe and studying him with an intensity that almost hurts. Cal flinches backward, until his shoulders are pressed against the concrete support of the bridge he's sitting under. He can feel stinking water soaking into the back of his T-shirt, but that guy is freaking him out.

"What are you doing?" he asks. "Who—"

"Quiet," the man says. "I'm trying to figure you out."

So Cal does the only thing he can think of. He stares back at the stranger, tries to figure _him_ out. And after thirty seconds or a minute, the man nods. "Yes," he says.

"Yes?" Cal says, and the man smiles. It's not exactly a happy smile, just a small, satisfied twitch of the lips.

"Yes," he agrees. And after a moment, Cal smiles too. Something feels like it's waking up inside him, stirring his blood or something even deeper, and he thinks he _likes_ it.

-/-

Desmond gets up, pushing himself off the bed and walking forward in a kind of daze. The room is full of people, grown ups, ones he's never even seen before. But he _knows_ them all. There's a kind of pricking on his skin, and when he looks down at his arms he sees goosebumps there. He rubs absent mindedly at his arms and looks back up at the room of strangers that aren't strangers.

He knows their names. The man kneeling in front of his bed is called Ezio. Desmond mouths the funny sounding name, working his tongue around the _z_ in the middle. The quiet man next to the window, with his arms crossed and his eyes invisible under a long white hood, his name is Altair. The man next to him with the ( _awesome_ ) looking bow and arrows strapped to his back is called Connor—no, no it's _not_ , his real name is Ratonhnhaké:ton, and Desmond thinks he sees the man smile at him a little. And he last man, the one with his arms over his chest, who no one will look at… his name is Haytham. Desmond gives _him_ a long look, because he's not dressed like the others, because he's giving Desmond this look that says he's _really_ unimpressed, because there's just something different about this guy. But in the end he decides he's okay with Haytham.

There's just something about these people, all of them, even Haytham, that Desmond _trusts_. The door opens, and Desmond turns around to see his dad standing there, wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, looking at him skeptically. "Desmond," he says. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Uh…" Desmond stops in the middle of his bedroom, and looks around. "I slept some." They're gone. They're all just _gone_.

 _Not gone_ , a voice in his head whispers. _We are with you._

Desmond's smile gets wider.

"I heard you moving around last night," his dad says, and Desmond shrugs.

"I woke up," he says. "But then I fell asleep again."

"Well, just get dressed," his dad says, turning away. "Okay? Then come downstairs for breakfast."

"Yea."

His dad takes a few steps away, then stops and turns back to him. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

There are voices in his head and invisible people _somewhere_ and he doesn't know what's going on but Desmond has never felt happier in his entire _life_. "Yea," he says. "Yea, I'm really good."

-/-

The man's name is Aguilar. Cal just knows it, even though he knows there's no way he possibly could. Just like there's no way he should know that the man standing just behind him is called Arno. "Who are you?" Cal asks, because he knows their names, and he knows… deep down he _knows_ they're on his side, he doesn't understand who they are or what they're doing here.

"Family," Arno says, and although Cal recognizes that he's speaking a foreign language (it sounds like maybe French, but Cal's not exactly bilingual), he also understands him perfectly.

"You're… oh." And then even though he knows he's too damn old to cry, Cal buries his face in his hands and sobs. It's just… it's been so long since he had _anything_ like that. When Cal is breathing normally again, and his face is mostly dry, he looks up and he doesn't see either Aguilar or Arno. It doesn't really matter. Maybe Cal's just going crazy (although he kind of doesn't think so—he doesn't feel crazy at all), but it doesn't _bother_ him.

Cal stands up, legs a little shaky. Even if he can't see them, he just… knows that they'll be back. He grabs his bag, and heads out from under the bridge. He doesn't really know where he's going, he never does, but for the first time in ages, he feels like he's going to figure it out.

-/-

 **Yea, so... honestly I just want to write about the bleeding effect and my two favorite modern characters. :) I have absolutely no idea where this is going, but hopefully it will be interesting.**

 **I'm hoping updates won't take too long, although chapters will probably be on the shorter side.**


	2. Chapter 2

Desmond has been learning to fight since he was six years old. He's not exactly sure why, but his parents really want him to, and all the other kids do it, and it's not really _fun_ but he doesn't mind it either. Today, when he's had breakfast with his dad (his mom's out on business somewhere, _again_ ), he heads out for the field on the edge of the Farm where he and the other kids meet every morning. There's five of them in his age group, six to ten year olds that have known each other pretty much since they were born. Desmond sits down cross legged on the ground between two of the other kids.

They're a small, easily distracted group, and Desmond knows their teacher is usually frustrated with them. They'd rather play tag than practice fighting, and when they're supposed to learn climbing they just play hide and seek on the obstacle course instead. It's actually a lot of fun.

But today, something is just… it's different. Their instructor, a man even older than Desmond's parents, shows up a little late, and announces that they're going to be working on climbing today. And after about ten minutes of everyone pretending to pay attention, all of the other kids run off to play but Desmond…

There's this wall that they're not even supposed to touch yet, because it's like ten feet high and hard to climb. Desmond doesn't even know how many times he's been told to stay away from that wall, it's for the older kids, it's too dangerous for kids like him that don't know what they're doing. But Altair is standing in front of the wall, watching Desmond.

"Are you going to learn?" he asks.

Desmond wanders over. "I don't really get why we're supposed to learn all this stuff," he says. He's not really complaining—he just doesn't _get_ it.

"It's important," Altair says. "Let me show you."

He holds out his hand, and for a second Desmond just stares at it. For some reason, Altair doesn't have all his fingers. Then he shrugs, and nods, and puts his hand on Altair's.

Instantly, the world changes around him. Desmond cranes his head upward, mouth falling open in surprise as the Farm just seems to fade away. Instead, they're in the middle of a desert somewhere, with tall stone buildings all around. Desmond doesn't understand anything that's going on, but he recognizes Altair. He runs through the city, climbing, fighting, moving like no one Desmond has ever seen.

"What is this?" he asks, still staring.

"A memory of mine," says the Altair holding Desmond's hand.

The… memory Altair pulls out a sword as a group of angry faced men swarm him, and to Desmond's surprise he is able to easily hold them all off.

"Why are you fighting them?" Desmond asks.

"For the same reason you should be learning to fight," Altair tells him. "Because there are people in the world that want to take away things like free will."

"And we can stop them?" Desmond asks. "Really? I mean… you're…" He gestured around them, at the memory Altair. "You're good at this. I'm just a kid."

Altair gave him a very small smile. "And that's why you need to practice."

"Desmond!"

He blinks and shakes his head, Altair's memory fading from around him like a fog. Somehow, he's not standing at the bottom of the wall he's not supposed to climb anymore. He's at the _top_ , on the little platform there, and everyone's staring at him. All the other kids, and their teacher too. Desmond looks down at his hands, and they're shaking and freshly calloused.

He doesn't remember getting up here.

After about fifteen seconds, his teacher climbs up next to him, and crouches down so he's looking Desmond in the eye. "What just happened?" he asks.

"I don't—" What _did_ happen? He was with Altair, but they were in a memory, and Desmond was just standing there. How did he… _what?_

"How did you do that?" his teacher asks.

"I don't know what I did," Desmond says. "What did I do?"

"You just climbed straight up here," his teacher said. "Where did you learn to do that?"

But Desmond just stares at him, confused. He has no idea.

-/-

Cal hasn't been able to spend more than a couple of months in the same place since the day has dad killed his mom. Even before then, they'd moved around a lot, so it sort of came naturally to him anyway.

He's been in this particular city—Chicago—for six and a half weeks already, and it's time to move on. He's sort of looking forward to the ride, to zoning out and trying to figure out what exactly he'd seen under that bridge. He'd managed to get a little work in his last couple years here, so he heads to the train station for a ticket instead of trying to hitch a ride out of the city. But while he's browsing for tickets, he notices all at once that there's someone standing next to him.

"Arno," he said quietly, glancing over at him. "Uh… right?" The man is wearing a long blue robe of some kind that should look stupid, but somehow fits him. Cal can see bits of metal glinting on weapons underneath.

Arno nods, sort of smiling. "What are you doing here?"

Cal smiles too, and gives a little snort of laughter. "What am I doing?" he asks. "Look, what are _you_ doing here?"

"I don't really know," Arno says. He doesn't sound upset about any of this, and it's sort of calming. Cal hasn't felt really _calm_ in a long time. "We're just here."

"You and Aguilar?"

Arno nods, and after a second, he says, "Where are you going?"

"I haven't figured it out yet." Cal goes back to the list of available tickets.

He's still studying the list when someone puts a hand on his shoulder. It's a large, heavy hand, and Cal tenses. His eyes flit to Arno, almost instinctively. Arno turns, and studies whoever it is for a second. Then he says, "Large man. Bad hair. Muscles, but he smells like a drunk so he's probably not a fighter."

The way he says it, Cal can tell Arno thinks this is supposed to be encouraging. But all he hears is big and drunk, and Cal's not a fighter either. He's been in his share of fistfights, but those were with kids his own age.

He turns around, and sees a guy at least six inches taller than him. "You here alone kid?" he asked.

"Uh—no," Cal says. "No, I'm… here with my family, I just—"

"Uh huh." The man gave Cal a smile that made his skin crawl. "Listen, why don't you just come with me? A kid on his own in a city like this…. Anything could happen."

"I told you," Cal says. "My family's just…"

"Yea, sure. Come on—"

And that's when Arno moves. It's like nothing Cal has ever seen before, a flash of violence that is sharp and somehow graceful. Cal watches, awed, as Arno makes just _three_ sharp movements, and suddenly he's on top of the man, somehow pinning him down even though he's about half as big as the drunk. He—

And then suddenly _Cal's_ the one on top of the drunk. He's panting like he's just done something athletic, and Arno is nowhere to be seen. Cal turns his head, and sees a crowd of two or three dozen people just… staring at him. He scrambles off the man and just takes off running before anyone can call the police.

-/-

Everyone wants to know how Desmond got up that wall, but _he_ doesn't know how he got up that wall. He was watching Altair climb, and then he was on top of the wall himself. That's all he knows, and he's _not_ going to tell anyone that. The worst part is when his teacher has asked all his questions, and then the _mentor_ (who Desmond has never talked to before) has asked all his questions. Because that's when his dad comes into the office where Desmond is being questioned.

He kneels down in front of Desmond, and gives him a look of absolute disappointment. Desmond cringes, and looks down at his hands, folded on his lap. "I don't know how I got up there," he said. "I don't, Dad, I _promise_."

"Well, Desmond—Hey, Desmond, look at me."

Desmond looks at him. It's not a lot of fun.

"Six people _saw_ you climb that wall. How did you do it? Have you been practicing?"

"No."

"Desmond!"

He flinches back as his dad suddenly raises his voice, and curls up a little bit. He doesn't like being yelled at.

"That's not _good_ enough," his dad says. "Desmond, you must have been practicing, which means you must have been going in places you know you're not supposed to be."

And that's the point where Desmond's dad just stops listening to him, and launches into a huge lecture that leaves Desmond blinking back tears. It lasts for, like… _forever_ , and when Desmond is finally allowed to leave, he whispers _sorry, sorry, sorry_ and runs home as fast as he can.

When he gets there, he throws himself on his bed and buries his head in his pillow with a miserable _flump_.

"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble."

Desmond turns over, and sees Altair standing there.

"Did you make me climb?" he asks.

"I… think so," Altair says.

Desmond frowns up at him. " _Why_?" he asks, voice cracking. "Why did you do that to me?"

"It wasn't intentional," Altair says.

"What?"

"I didn't make you do that on purpose." Altair sits on the bed next to him, and puts his hand on Desmond's head. It's a little awkward, but not really in a bad way. Everyone else is mad at him, after all. "I'm… sorry."

"Why are you here?" Desmond asks. "Why are _any_ of you here?"

"I don't know," Altair says. "All I know is we're here, and we're here because of _you_."

"I didn't ask you to come," Desmond mutters.

"No," Altair says, sounding absolutely serious. "But we are here regardless."

"But _why_?"

"I don't know," Altair says. "But we will figure it out."


	3. Chapter 3

Cal ends up hitch hiking after all, which sucks. It's a lot harder to get anywhere _specific_ by hitch hiking than it is by train. Which is how he ends up stuck in some tiny midwestern town, more or less in the middle of nowhere. It's sort of weird—Cal's used to bigger cities, places where he can hide out and blend in. His natural instinct is to get moving, to find somewhere new to hide, _now_ , and the only reason he hasn't done that is because of Aguilar.

"You need to learn how to take care of yourself."

"Holy sh—" Cal jumps about half a foot in the air, and looks around to find Aguilar right at his side. "When did you get here?"

"Just now," Aguilar says. "Stay here. Let us teach you to defend yourself."

Cal's still getting used to the fact that these two strangers are going to pop into his life (and beat up strangers for him, apparently). He's not sure he's ready to take life advice from them. "I'm doing fine," he says. "I've been on my own for years, I'm still here."

"You can do better," Aguilar says, and Cal cracks a smile.

"Well, I'm homeless and broke, so I guess you have a point."

"Then it's settled," Aguilar says firmly. "Stay here. Get settled. We'll help you learn to take care of yourself, but you can't _do_ that if you're always running."

Cal looks at him, torn between laughing or getting angry. But—he remembers what it was like seeing Arno take that drunk out. He _wants_ to be able to do that. "It's… not that easy," he says instead. "I'd need a place to stay, a job, I mean…" He looks at Aguilar, and an odd feeling of helplessness overwhelms him. "I don't know how to do any of that."

And Aguilar smiles at him, and says, "You will learn."

-/-

Desmond isn't allowed to come to classes anymore. His teacher says he can't be trusted anymore. He broke the rules and apparently this is his punishment. Instead of being allowed to play with his friends, he has to spend his days learning stuff instead. Every morning, his dad gives him books to read, and Desmond is supposed to just… read them. He _can_ read, sort of, but he's not very good at it and all these books are boring. Desmond just wants to go back to playing tag.

After about a week of this, Desmond is starting to get used to the never ending boredom. He mostly spends his days trying not to fall asleep, until during one boring Wednesday, someone pokes him on the back of the head. Desmond is half asleep so the unexpected poke almost sends him face first into the book.

He turns around, and comes face to face with Ezio. "Oh," he says. "Hi."

"This is boring," Ezio informs him.

"Uh… yea." Desmond turns around so he's kneeling backwards on his chair, arms crossed over the chair back. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be reading about."

"Come outside," Ezio says. "We'll do something more fun."

 _Anything_ would be more fun than this, so Desmond actually thinks about it. "Are you going to get me in trouble like Altair did?" he asks. "I don't—hey!"

Ezio picks him up and spins him around and for the first time in days, Desmond starts laughing. "Okay!" he says. "Okay, okay, let's go _play_!"

Playing with Ezio isn't like playing with his friends. Ezio is a grownup, which mostly means Desmond has a hard time keeping up. But it's not like… a _bad_ hard time. It's kind of fun, actually, like a challenge. The afternoon whizzes by, with Desmond and Ezio playing tag until Desmond is so tired he can't keep going. Then he lays down on his back, grinning up at Ezio. "Thank you," he says. "I miss having fun."

Ezio sighs, and leans down to give him a hand up. "Get back to the books before anyone notices you're gone," he tells Desmond. "They'll miss you."

"Doubt it," Desmond says, but he gets up and goes back inside anyway.

-/-

So Cal gets a job. He has no papers, no work history, nothing. His new job isn't anything special, but it's more than he's ever had before. Park maintenance. He'll be fishing plastic bags out of rivers and mowing lawns or something. Cal's not exactly sure yet, actually. He'll figure it out. Probably.

"It's a good fit for you," Aguilar says, and this time, Cal barely even jumps at the man's sudden appearance.

"How do you know?" he asks. "You barely even know me."

"Because," Aguilar says. He's looking at the handout Cal had been given at the end of his interview. "This says you will be outdoors, you will be working primarily on your own, and it will give you plenty of opportunity to train."

Right. Because Cal's going to learn how to kick ass, that's an actual thing that's going to happen. "It just seems crazy," he says. "A couple days ago, I was sleeping under a bridge. Now I have a job, and I'm not… running away anymore."

"Cal," Aguilar says. "What do you want out of your life?"

"What? I don't—look, I just…" He trails off and stares at Aguilar. "What? I don't know."

Aguilar looks like he's trying not to laugh, and after a second Cal smiles sheepishly. "Yea," he says. "Okay, so I really don't know what I want my life to be. I mean… for now, just having a reason to stay in one place and not keep running, that's enough. But long term? I don't…" He shrugs helplessly.

"Stay with me and Arno," Aguilar says, as if Cal has a choice, as if he'd just abandon them even if he can. "Let us train you."

"And what happens after you train me?"

But Aguilar only smiles, and won't explain any more than that.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the course of the next few months, Desmond gets used to the people only he can see. At first, they're all just grownups with hoods and funny names, but over time he gets to know all of them individually.

Ezio is the one that likes to play with him—when Desmond is feeling really sad, Ezio's usually the one that comes up with a fun new game to play. There's always lots of running around and laughing and no matter how bad he feels, Ezio always makes Desmond feel better. He's _fun_.

Altair is more like a teacher. He's usually very serious, but not in a scary way. Desmond isn't sure he wants to learn all the running and climbing and fighting that Altair wants to teach him. But on the other hand, Altair really liked teaching him. And he was _good_ at it—Desmond was learning a lot, and maybe when he knew more about stuff, he could figure out if that was what he wanted. And if he did, at least he'd already have a head start. For now, he was okay just learning whatever Altair had to teach.

Connor is _quiet_. He's so quiet that sometimes Desmond doesn't even know he's there. Even Altair will usually say hello when he gets there, but Connor just sits and watches most of the time. He's very polite, but Desmond isn't quite sure what to do with him. Or maybe Connor isn't quite sure what to do with Desmond. He always looks sad, so Desmond makes it a point to sit down and talk to him every time he shows up. After a while, Connor starts actually talking to him. He tells Desmond stories about his home, and Desmond loves hearing them.

And then finally, there's Haytham. _None_ of the others will ever show up when he's there. Desmond sometimes sees Altair and Connor together, talking about grownup things he doesn't understand. And Ezio is always happy to show up when either of them is around. Or when anyone _else_ is around, for that matter. Sometimes when Desmond's with other people, Ezio will just show up and make comments about whatever they're saying or doing, even though no one but Desmond can even _see_ him.

Even Ezio won't show up when Haytham is around.

"Why doesn't anybody like you?" Desmond asks, on a day when Haytham shows up. Alone, of course.

"You wouldn't understand," Haytham says. He has this voice that always makes him sound like he's angry, but after a couple of scares, Desmond is starting to get used to him. So when Haytham shows up, and immediately starts striding away to a quiet corner of the Farm, Desmond trails him without hesitation.

"Why wouldn't I understand?" Desmond asks, trailing determinedly after Haytham. "Why don't you explain it to me?"

"Because you're a child," Haytham says.

"Yea," Desmond says, skipping over a muddy puddle.

"And children are generally rather useless," Haytham says.

"I'm not," Desmond says. "Can I help you with something, Haytham?" He looked up at the man, wide eyed and pleading. "I can show you I'm not useless..?"

Haytham looks down at him, and Desmond grins his widest smile—he wants Haytham to be his friend, because… well, Desmond doesn't have that many other options for friends. And it looks like Haytham doesn't either. Even the other invisible people don't want to hang out with him. And maybe it's Desmond's imagination, but he thinks he sees the tiniest little hint of a return smile. "Alright," he said. "I will tell you the short version of the story."

Desmond nodded eagerly, and followed Haytham until they were right up against the edge of the Farm. No one ever came out this way, because there wasn't anything out here. Haytham sat down on a fallen tree, and Desmond hopped onto it next to him. "So?" he prodded. "Why doesn't anyone like you?"

So Haytham told him about a group of people called Templars, who liked when the world was well ordered and calm and made sense. And then, reluctantly, he told Desmond about the Assassins, who believed people needed to control their own lives.

"You're a Templar," Desmond guessed, when Haytham was done. "Uh… right?"

"Yes I am," Haytham said, with a kind of quiet pride.

"And… all the other guys are Assassins?"

"Yes," Haytham says. "As are your parents, and every other person in this _Farm_."

"So does that mean you're the bad guy?" Desmond asks. "Since everyone else is an Assassin, and you're a Templar?"

"So the others would have you believe, I'm sure," Haytham says, and gives Desmond a look of intense disapproval before fading away.

Desmond makes a face. "I didn't say you _were_ a bad guy," he mumbles. "I just asked a question." He gets up, kicks a little at the fallen down tree, and heads back home, still wondering about Templars and Assassins.

Haytham's explanation gave him a vague idea of the two sides, but now Desmond wants to know more. He doesn't even consider asking his parents. They'll only want to know where he heard those words in the first place. Or they'll be mad. Sometimes it seems like _nothing_ he does makes them happy any more. Ever since that day with Altair, when he accidentally climbed that wall he's not supposed to climb, his parents have been treating him different. Like he did something wrong on purpose. Or like _he's_ wrong, maybe.

So no, he can't ask them. Instead, he turns to his only other options.

Ezio smiles, and tells Desmond he's too young to know. When Desmond argues, and points out that he already knows a little, Ezio only shakes his head. "It's a heavy thing to know," he says. "And when you're older, I promise to tell you. But right now, you should enjoy being a child. You'll miss not knowing, someday."

"Being a kid's not that much fun," Desmond says. Ezio grins and leans over, grabbing Desmond under the arms and spinning him around in a circle. Desmond's feet leave the floor and he shrieks with surprise. For a little while, he forgets about his questions.

But only for a little while, because Desmond still wants his answer. He asks Altair, and gets a difficult answer about noble causes and ancient wars and tenets and creeds and it all just makes his head spin. It doesn't help Desmond understand any better. When he talks to Connor, though, the man only sighs.

"You have spoken to my father," he says.

"No," Desmond tells him. "I just talked to Haytham. And then Ezio, and—"

"Haytham is my father," Conor says.

"Oh." Desmond cocks his head just a little to one side. "Really?"

There's no expression at all on Connor's face as he nods. "Yes. We do not get along, of course. But he is my father."

"He's not so bad," Desmond says. "Why don't you like him? Is it really just 'cuz he's a Templar?"

"No," Connor says. "It is not _only_ because of that."

They're in Desmond's room—he's supposed to be putting away his clean clothes, but talking to Connor is a lot more interesting. He sits down on his bed, and looks up at Connor expectantly. After a moment, Connor nods.

"My father didn't raise me," he says. "We did not meet until I was older. And by then, he was a Templar, and I was an Assassin."

"But he's your dad," Desmond says. "Shouldn't that matter more?"

"Maybe it should have," Connor says. "But it did not seem to at the time."

"Why not?"

He can tell Connor is getting tired of his questions. Every time Desmond asks a question, Connor shakes his head a little and shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. But Desmond can't seem to keep his mouth shut. He just wants to understand.

"When they're at their best, the Templars want the same thing as the Assassins," Connor says. He speaks very slowly, and Desmond can tell he's thinking hard. "At least, I think they do. We all want peace."

"So what's the pr—"

"The problem, Desmond, is that _peace_ is nothing but a very small, simple word, hiding a much more complicated truth."

Haytham is suddenly standing just in front of the door, shoulders rolled back stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. Desmond isn't used to seeing him so tense. He nods formally at his son. "Connor," he says.

Connor has gone completely still. "Father," he says.

Silence falls.

"So why is peace a problem?" Desmond asks. "I don't get it. Peace sounds good."

"Because everyone wants peace," Haytham says. "But no one agrees on exactly what that means. For example—"

"For example," Desmond says, springing up from his bed. "You guys could make peace?" He grins at both of them. "Maybe start there?"

They look at each other, and then Haytham turns back to him. "Sorry, Desmond," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "I don't think that's going to happen any time soon."

And he vanishes. A moment later, Connor gives him an apologetic look, and vanishes as well.

Desmond flops back on his bed. _Well_. He doesn't know much more about Assassins or Templars than he did this morning, but he does know more about Connor and Haytham. They're related, for example. He hadn't known that.

But now that he _does_ know… Desmond grins. He's going to figure out how to get them to make up and be friends again, and it's going to be great. That seems way more important than any of that other stuff right now.

His bedroom door opens, and Desmond looks up to see his dad poking his head in.

"Haven't you finished putting your clothes away yet?" he asks. "Come on, Desmond, what have you been doing in here all this time?"

Desmond doesn't even try to explain. No one would believe him anyway.

 **-/-**

 **Cal will show up next chapter, he hasn't been forgotten. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Eighteen months roll by, one day at a time, and Cal stays where he is. He doesn't run, although he does consider it many, many times. After all this time, it doesn't feel right to just stop, and stay still. It feels like things are going to catch up to him, and sometimes they do. When Cal isn't spending every day worrying about where he'll sleep and how he'll feed himself, he has more time for memories.

And it's not like he has a lot of good ones.

But every time Cal _almost_ makes up his mind to bolt, Aguilar or Arno will show up and talk him down. He doesn't understand why, at first. For several months, he doesn't really feel like he has any _reason_ to stay. Yes, he has a job now, and after a few weeks he manages to rent out a room in this old lady's house close to the train station. It smells like garlic and cats, all the time, but it's still the first time Cal has slept under the same roof for this long since his mom died.

Which makes him think of his mom, which makes him think of her dying, which makes him think that it's time to run, he doesn't want to think about this anymore—

"Cal."

As usual, when his imagination starts running away from him, it's Arno that shows up to pull him back.

He's sitting on his bed, staring at his shoes, thinking too much about all the wrong things, but he looks up at Arno and smiles, a little guiltily. "Hey," he says. "Sorry, I was just about to… head out, I guess."

"Were you?" Arno asks. It's almost a challenge, the way he says it, but then he smirks and it's almost a joke. "You look like you're thinking about something pretty hard."

Cal gets up and stretches, mostly just so he'll have something to do. He winces as his muscles ache slightly with the movement. He spars with Aguilar most days after work, but lately they've been working on climbing instead. It's a lot of fun, but Cal's muscles are still getting used to it. "I'm fine," he tells Arno now, not looking at him.

"You were thinking about your mother," Arno says. The smile is gone from his voice. He just sounds serious instead.

"Well I'm allowed, aren't I?" Cal asks. "She's my mom, after all."

"Cal—"

"I _miss_ her, okay?" Cal says. He doesn't need to hear whatever Arno's going to say. He'll just remind Cal that his mom's been dead for years, and it's about time he got over it.

Arno steps closer. He's quiet, but by now Cal has learned to pick up on the faint noise of footsteps from Arno and Aguilar, no matter how carefully they walk. "You should miss her," he says. "There are people I miss, too. I don't want to stop missing them. I don't want to forget them."

"But with my mom…"

"It's different," Arno interrupts. "It's more complicated. You don't just miss her, you're angry about how she died."

"You know I am," Cal mutters. "He did it. _He_ killed her."

"Your father."

Cal looks away, and balls his fists at his side. "We don't have to talk about this," he mutters. "I'm fine, Arno. _Fine_."

He heads for the door, and hears Arno whisper, "No you're not." But by the time Cal turns around and looks behind him, there's no sign of Arno at all. He's just vanished.

-/-

That afternoon, during his normal spar with Aguilar, Cal was surprised when Aguilar cut him off only half an hour in. "Arno says you've been upset," he says.

"You've been talking to Arno?" Cal asks, surprised. He's seen both of them together, and they'll talk to each other then. But they've never really been forthcoming about where they go when they're not with him. Cal has no idea if they hang out together or if they're separated or if they just don't exist at all.

"We talk about you often," Aguilar said.

"So where—"

"He says you're letting your mother's death drag you down," Aguilar says. He assumes a position that's almost lecturing. Cal's used to seeing that pose whenever Aguilar teaches him something new, but this is the first time that Aguilar has lectured him on his personal life. "And I can understand why he thinks that."

"She's my mom," Cal says. He's tired of explaining this to Arno already. He doesn't want to go through it all again with Aguilar. "I'm allowed to miss her."

"Of course you are," Aguilar says. "Cal. Listen. Your father did something terrible to your mother. You miss her, and that just goes to show how much she loved you, and how much you still love her. It is a good sign, and it makes me like you more as a person."

Cal smiles a little, in spite of everything. He wants Aguilar to like him—he and Arno are as close as he has to family.

"But you can't save your mother," Aguilar says, voice far gentler than usual. "Cal. She's dead."

Cal is quiet for a long time. He knows that, he _knows_ his mother is dead. How could he ever possibly forget that? Finally, he says, "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Stop mourning her," Aguilar says. " _Honor_ her. After a year and a half, Cal, I like to think I know you. And you are not a weak person. There are other people in the world that have been hurt the way your mother was hurt. And the way you were hurt. You can protect them, Cal."

"Can I?" Cal asks glumly.

Aguilar smiles slightly. "What do you think all this training was for?"

Cal thinks about it for a minute. And then he smiles. He feels like his world has just brightened. "Yea," he says. "I… yea, I can do that. If you'll help me?"

"That's all that Arno and I have ever tried to do," Aguilar says, perfectly serious. Cal smiles, and—to his surprise—after a second, Aguilar returns the expression. "Do you know what it is we do?"

"You… show up in my life and train me," Cal says. "Sometimes you make cryptic comments. Do you do other stuff?"

"That's what we do now," Aguilar agrees. "But in our times, we were Assassins."

Cal opens his mouth, sucks in a breath, and then squints at Aguilar in confusion. He doesn't even know what to ask about first. _Assassins_? And what other time would they live in? Honestly, it had never even crossed Cal's mind to wonder if they have actual _lives_ beyond what he sees of them. "What does all that mean?" he says at last.

"Sit down," Aguilar says. "I want to tell you about where I come from."

So Cal sits, and Aguilar tells him a wild story, about long ago adventures on the sun bleached rooftops of a city in Spain. And if that story had come from anyone else, Cal wouldn't have believed a word of it. But somehow… _somehow_ , when Aguilar tells it, Cal almost feels like he's right there with him. Aguilar is not a descriptive story teller. But Cal can _see_ it as Aguilar describes his life. And by the end, when Aguilar trails off and the images fade from Cal's mind's eye, he thinks he understands.

"You want me to be an Assassin," he says.

"I do," Aguilar says. "Getting to know you, and seeing you train, I think you would be very good at it. I think you could protect people that need help. And I think you could start to forgive yourself for what happened to your mother."

"I need to think about it," Cal says. His heart is _pounding_. But… he thinks he likes the idea. It sticks in his head and wriggles around, and it won't leave. But he needs to think it over. "I'll get back to you."

"You know where to find me," Aguilar says, and they both smile.

That night, Arno comes to find him as Cal is trying to sleep. His head's too full to sleep peacefully, so he sits up at once. Arno's a better conversationalist than Aguilar, and that's exactly what he needs right now.

"So you're an Assassin too," he says.

"Yep."

He says it so casually that Cal laughs. _Assassins_. God, how is this suddenly normal? "So… what does that mean, if I decide to join you guys? How do I… I mean, what happens? Do I have to kill people?"

"Would that bother you?" Arno asks.

"What?" Cal gives him a weird look. "Of course it would bother me. What kind of question is that?"

"Well, if it didn't bother you, I don't think you'd be right for the Brotherhood. People that kill just to kill, because they enjoy it, they don't deserve to be Assassins. You're better than that. You could do a lot of good."

Cal sighs and stands up. "I keep thinking about all that stuff Aguilar told me," he says, which is only sort of true. Really, what he's thinking about is what he'd _seen_ while Aguilar was talking to him. Those weird visions or whatever they were. They'd been incredible, and Cal…

"I want that," Cal says. "Arno… I want to be part of that."

"Then you will be. If you're sure about this."

It's not Arno that answers, but Aguilar. Cal turns to find the other man has suddenly appeared on the far side of his room. They all stand in silence for a minute, just the three of them in that tiny bedroom that smells like cats. And after a beat, Cal says, "I'm sure. I want to be an Assassin."

 **-/-**

 **How does it always end up taking so long for me to write...? -_- Real life stinks.**


	6. Chapter 6

On Desmond's tenth birthday, his dad sits him down and has a very serious conversation with him. "There's something," he starts. "That your mother and I have been keeping from you, Desmond."

By this point, Desmond has been seeing invisible people for two years. Almost every single night, he has vivid, memorable dreams of their lives. By this point, Desmond knows Masyaf, Monteriggioni, the Homestead, almost as well as he knows the Farm. When he's not doing something for his parents, or with the other kids at the Farm, he's playing with Ezio, or talking to Altair, or trying to stop another argument between Connor or Haytham. Sometimes they even teach him to do stuff, like climb or fight or hide. When his dad says _there's something we've been keeping from you_ , Desmond barely pays attention. He knows that whatever his dad's secrets are, there's no way they're as big as his.

"Desmond," his dad says. "Are you listening to me?"

"Uh…" He kicks at the legs of his chair. "Yea," he says. "Yea, I'm listening."

"Good," his dad says. "Because this is important." He takes a deep breath. "Desmond, your mother and I are Assassins."

There's a long silence. Desmond realizes he's supposed to say something. "Okay," he says.

His dad gives him a frustrated look. "Do you know what that word means?" he asks.

"Yea," Desmond says. "It means…" He's spent years talking to Altair and Ezio and Connor and even Haytham about what the Assassins do. Desmond thinks he has a pretty good grasp of it, and someday he wants to do that too. Right now though, he doesn't want his dad to know that he already knows what Assassins do. That would mean explaining how he found out about them, and that's not going to go too well.

"Desmond," his dad prompts.

"Means you kill people," Desmond mumbles, looking at the floor. He feels dumb, explaining it like that, when he already knows it's so much more.

"It's a little bit more complicated than that," his dad says, and Desmond almost rolls his eyes because _duh_. "But you're a little too young to understand all that right now."

"I'm ten," Desmond reminds him. "It's my birthday today."

"I know," his dad tells him. "And usually… well, with most kids in the Brotherhood, their parents tell them on their tenth birthday that one day they're going to be an Assassin, and that their training is going to start getting more intense."

Desmond leans forward eagerly.

"But in your case, Desmond…" His dad trails off. "Listen. There is nothing wrong with you."

"I know," Desmond says.

"But your teachers tell me you don't participate in lessons. I don't see you getting along with other kids your age."

Well, no. He has invisible friends he'd rather spend time with.

"So I just don't think you're ready to start training as an Assassin," his dad says. "Maybe in a year or two, we'll reconsider. But right now, you're just… I don't think you're ready for this."

Desmond stares at him. "But I am."

His dad shakes his head and gets to his feet. He doesn't even say anything, just walks away. It's only when he's on his way out the door that he calls back, "You don't understand what an Assassin is, Desmond. But I do. I've devoted my whole life to this Brotherhood. I know what makes a good Assassin, Desmond, and you're not it."

Desmond sits there, shocked and speechless, until Altair eventually appears nearby. "Altair—" Desmond stands up and runs to him. There's tears in his eyes. "My dad says I'm not going to be an Assassin! I really _want_ this. I want to do what all you guys do. I can do it, you _know_ I can. Right?"

"Desmond." Altair leans down and takes his hands. "Listen to me. Your father is wrong."

"He says I can't be an Assassin," Desmond says. "He says—"

"Desmond, I have _seen_ the way you listen to me when I explain the Brotherhood," Altair says. "And I have watched you learning from myself and Ezio and Connor. I am absolutely sure that you would make a good Assassin."

"Then why doesn't my dad see it?" Desmond asks.

"I don't know," Altair says.

Desmond's mouth drops open. "But I thought you knew _everything_ ," he whispers.

-/-

Aguilar often stands guard over Cal when he sleeps. There is no immediate threat to them here, apart from the possibility that Cal's landlord will let one of her cats wander in again. But Aguilar enjoys the quiet.

"Is he having those dreams again?"

Arno is suddenly behind him, leaning against the doorframe.

"I don't know," Aguilar says. He doesn't react either to Arno's question or the man's sudden reappearance.

Arno wanders past Aguilar to sit next to Cal on the bed. He studies the boy for a minute, then says, "I think he is having the dreams again."

Aguilar feels a frown spreading across his face. For the past couple of months, Cal has started to have nightmares. He very rarely talks about them, but from the few details Aguilar has managed to pick out of him have him worried. He looks at the way Cal frowns in his sleep, the way he twitches and grumbles. "Maybe you're right."

"So," Arno says. His voice is oddly bright. "My life or yours?"

Aguilar lets this go for about ten seconds. Then he says, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"My life," Arno says. "Or yours? You've heard the way he talks about his dreams. He doesn't see it clearly, but I _know_ my life when he talks about it. And I assume the stuff I don't recognize is from your life. Cards on the table. We need to figure out what we're doing to him."

Aguilar looks away, arms crossed. "Yes," he says. "Cal sometimes dreams about… my life. I don't know why, though. And I don't think he sees anything clearly." Whenever Cal talked about his dreams, it was vague, more impressions and feelings than concrete facts.

"They're always nightmares," Arno says. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not particularly," Aguilar says. So much of his life has been a nightmare that he's not at all surprised he's managed to pass it on to Cal. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes," Arno says. "My life isn't all bad. I have a lot of good memories, and if he has to see something from my life, I would rather have him see something that doesn't…"

Cal makes a noise halfway between a cry and a grunt, and curls into himself.

"Doesn't make him do that," Arno continues, gesturing halfheartedly toward Cal.

They look at each other, and for a moment the uncomfortable weight of who they are and what they are doing here hangs in the air between the two of them. Aguilar wonders if they're finally going to talk about it, but the moment stretches on, and it looks like neither of them is going to say anything.

Cal shakes again.

Aguilar makes a snap decision.

"I don't know if we're real," he says.

Arno turns his head around sharply to stare at him. "W-what?"

"You must have thought it too," Aguilar says. He's almost surprised by how calm his voice sounds. He's spent years worrying about this, after all. "We're not really here. No one else can see us. And we can't control…" He trails off.

"What happens to you," Arno asks. "When you're not here? With Cal?"

Aguilar leans back against the nearest wall, and crosses his arms. "I couldn't tell you," he says. "I stop being me, I suppose. Nothing really seems real. Everything looks blurry, time… speeds up or slows down, it's like a dream. And what I see comes through Cal's eyes."

Arno nods. "Yea, it's… pretty much the same for me."

For some reason, the resigned tone of his voice makes Aguilar smile. "And you've never even wondered if we're real?"

"I exist," Arno says. "I _exist_. I have feelings, and memories. I can think. Aguilar, I know we're real."

"Maybe," Aguilar says. On the bed, Cal's twitching finally gets to be too much for him to stand. He pushes off from the wall, reaches past Arno, and shakes the boy awake. "But then… what's happening to us when we're not here?"

-/-

Cal feels a hand on his shoulder, and jolts awake. He knows it must have been either Arno or Aguilar, because who else would be in him, shaking him awake, but when he opens his eyes, they're both gone. Or as gone as they ever are, anyway. Even when he can't see them, there's a part of Cal that just _knows_ they're there. With him, always. And that's what helps him roll out of bed, move past the nightmares, and get ready to face another day.


	7. Chapter 7

The day after Desmond's dad tells him he's not allowed to be an Assassin, he starts training. Every single day, as much as he can, whenever his friends show up, Desmond fights to prove—mostly to himself—that he can be an Assassin. He learns to fight, climb, run, and hide. Practices until he knows everything they can teach him.

And at nights—not that he has any control over this part—he has his dreams. All of their lives, bits and pieces, coming to him whenever he closes his eyes. Desmond lives and breathes the Assassins, and for the first several years, Desmond is convinced that eventually his dad will see that, and he'll let him join in with the other kids his age.

But it never happens. Every year, on his birthday, Desmond's dad sits him down and tells him that he's still not ready to be an Assassin. He's still just not good enough. Over the years, Desmond comes to realize that what his dad really means is that he's too different.

By the time he hits sixteen, he hates his birthdays.

"That's it," Desmond tells Altair the morning of the day he turns sixteen. It's just before dawn, and they're just at the edge of the Farm, in an area where Desmond knows that no one ever comes. As usual, they're sparring. "If he doesn't let me join them this year, I'm just _leaving,_ I swear."

"You won't leave," Altair says. His tone is as calm and collected as ever, and normally that's enough to calm Desmond down. Not this time. "Desmond, this is where the Assassins are, and that's what you want. That's what you have always wanted. You won't leave."

"I will," Desmond insists. "I want to be an Assassin to help people. I'll never be able to do that here. So if Dad won't let me be an Assassin, I'll take it into my own hands."

"For the record," Altair says. "I think this is a bad idea."

Desmond nods.

"But you're going anyway."

Again, he nods.

"We're meant to be a Brotherhood," Altair says. "Assassins don't work alone."

"Great," Desmond says. "Because I'm going to be an Assassin, and I'm not going to work alone. I'll always have you guys."

He drops his posture, out of the fighting position he'd held while sparring with Altair. His dad will be up soon, and Desmond needs to be back in the house before then. They've argued in the past about Desmond going places he's not supposed to, straying too close to the edge of the Farm or wandering the training grounds unsupervised. He's not in the mood for another argument, so he just dashes back to the house, creeps inside and up the stairs, and manages to look like he's just getting dressed when his dad comes in.

"Happy birthday."

Desmond throws a sweaty T-shirt into the basket by the door and reaches for a clean one. "Thanks, Dad," he says, and then they stand in silent for a second. Desmond clenches the fresh T-shirt in his hand. "Dad," he says at last. "Do you… think that this year I'd be able to start training… I mean, do you think I could be an Assassin?"

His dad moves in closer, and puts his hand on Desmond's shoulder. "Desmond," he says quietly. "I've watched you grow up for sixteen years, and I am more proud of you than I can explain. But Desmond, the other kids your age, they've been in training for six years now. I can't… you're too far behind. It's too far to catch up. I'm sorry, Desmond, I know you want this, but even if I thought you were a good fit—"

Desmond steps back, wrenching away from his dad's grasp. "No," he says.

"Desmond."

"No. Dad, you're wrong, okay?" He takes a deep breath. "Just give me a chance. Give me a month—a _week_ , training with the other kids. Dad, I will _prove_ to you that I can do this. Just… I'm sixteen, not ten years old. Maybe you're right, and I get my ass kicked. Or maybe I'm right, and I can be an Assassin."

He has absolutely no hope that his dad will listen to him. It's been too long, and there's too much that's gone wrong since that day, six years ago exactly, when his dad first told him he wasn't good enough to train with everyone else. And that's why he's so surprised when his dad says yes.

Desmond's head snaps upward, and he stares at his dad. "I can—really?"

"Yes," his dad agrees.

Desmond breaks into a huge smile, dashes forward, and wraps his arms around his dad. " _Thank_ you," he says. He can't believe it, because this was his last chance and it's _working_. "Dad, you don't know how much this means to me, thank you—"

"Just…" His dad pats him on the shoulder, leaning Desmond back a few inches so he can see him better. "Listen to me, okay? I don't know what you're expecting, but I just… I don't want to see you reach too far, and…"

But Desmond smiles. "I won't fail, Dad. I won't."

-/-

Cal's finally met another Assassin. Not… an invisible one, like Aguilar or Arno, someone only he can see. This is an actual, real life, fresh and blood Assassin. Other people can see him and everything.

And he's taking Cal somewhere.

It's all happening… very quickly. He'd passed through Cal's town, on his way back from… well, Cal doesn't know where he's coming from, only that he's wearing a hidden blade and a hood. He'd chased the man halfway across town before babbling out some half thought out story and almost begging the man to take him to the Assassins. He knows he must have sounded crazy, but somehow, it works. Cal doesn't know how, but as soon as the man hears his name, they're heading to this Assassin compound, some place called the Farm.

He stares out the window, trying not to feel nervous, and trying not to smile.

-/-

Desmond speeds through his morning routine, but his mom still insists that they all sit down at the breakfast table and eat together, like a family. They do it every morning, no matter how little they might feel like a family on any particular day. Desmond's tempted to argue, but doesn't. He'll sit through breakfast if he can get his chance to prove himself as an Assassin.

They're just sitting down when someone knocks on the door.

"I'll just go see who that is," Desmond's dad says.

"Breakfast, William," his mom reminds him.

"I know, I know, I'll be back—

" _William_."

"Two seconds, Abby."

It's more than two seconds, of course. He's gone for about ten minutes, and when he comes back, he sits down, pushes aside his breakfast, and looks at Desmond. "Alright," he says. "Desmond. You want to be tested as an Assassin, and it looks like you're not the only one."

Desmond frowns. "What does that mean?"

"There's a new recruit headed here now," his dad says. "Should be here by this afternoon. Something Lynch—his parents were Assassins, years ago, and he says he's had some training. So, you and he will face off this afternoon. You'll both be evaluated, and we'll figure out what happens next when I see what you're capable of."

Desmond nods. Anything. This is his chance, and he will do _anything_.

-/-

"This is it," Cal says, when he's finally at the Farm and alone—mostly alone—in a small room near what looks like a training field. There's a guard outside, which makes sense because why would anyone trust him yet, but inside it's just him and Aguilar. Apparently, he's going to be fighting another person that wants to become an Assassin.

"You're ready for this," the man says, nodding. "You've been trained. And this isn't a life or death fight. They're just evaluating you."

"Right," Cal mutters. "No big deal, I'm just being tested to see if I'm good enough for the Assassins."

"I already know you are," Aguilar says. "And you know that you are. It doesn't matter what these people say."

Yea. Sure. Only, Cal knows it does matter, it matters to _him_. He's been on his own since he was a child, and in all that time he's only ever had Aguilar and Arno. He can't pass up this chance to be… part of something _bigger_. Cal takes a deep breath. He already knows that he's going to put everything he has into this. He is going to come out of this as an Assassin.


	8. Chapter 8

_The first few years after Ezio comes to Rome are busy and hectic—he's chasing Templars and a piece of Eden, and that takes up so much of his time that some days he barely has the energy to think of anything else. But eventually, it ends. The Templars run over with their tails between their legs, the apple, is retrieved, and life settles. Ezio starts to think of moving on—he's heard legends of a library hidden somewhere in Masyaf, supposedly tied to Altair himself. Maybe he'll go looking for it._

 _But he hasn't even decided whether or not he'll go when something happens to temporarily derail his plans. An Assassin—a Spanish Assassin—comes to Rome, which is surprising because Ezio has heard rumors that the entire Brotherhood there was wiped out by the Inquisition. They were certainly arrested, a few years back, and as far as Ezio knows, no one has heard from any survivors. But now there's one here, and as mentor it's his duty to get to the bottom of it, and find out what's really been happening in Spain._

 _The man's name is Aguilar de Nerha._

 _-/-_

The other recruit is already at the training field when Desmond follows his dad over there. Not just him, of course. Desmond recognizes several higher ranked Assassins, people that have never had time to pay attention to him before, and his stomach flips. Well… that's not going to help his nerves any. And there are kids there, mostly his age and younger. A few older teens with nothing else to do. One or two random passers by.

He can do this, he reminds himself. He's _good_ , even Altair says so, and Altair just doesn't give out praise that easily. As long as Desmond doesn't completely panic when he gets in there, he'll do fine. He'll finally be allowed to become an Assassin.

The guy he's supposed to be fighting is busy talking to a couple of the other Assassins, sorting out the fight or something, so Desmond only has a view of his back at first. He looks fit, tense and coiled and ready to strike, and Desmond takes note of the way he stands, his posture and where he puts his weight. He'll take any advantage he can get, this is too important not to.

"He's older than you," his dad says, pausing when they're still a little way from the training field.

"Yea," Desmond agrees. He looks like he's in his mid-20s, but he's been sparring with adults since he was ten years old. He's not very worried about that.

"I didn't think he'd be that… look, Desmond, it's not too late to back out. You don't have to be an Assassin."

"Yes I do," Desmond says. He squares his shoulders and heads closer, leaving his dad behind.

-/-

 _Aguilar stays in Rome for more than a year. It's been a very long time since he was with any other Assassins, and once he gets over the obvious nostalgia for_ his _brothers, the people he had trained with and fought for and, in the end, outlived, it's nice to be back. He helps train the novices, and slowly gets himself back on his feet._

 _He also strikes up a friendship with the mentor, a man called Ezio. At first, their conversations rarely stay firmly fixed in the past. Ezio wants to know what happened to the other Assassins, and he's only more interested when Aguilar explains about the apple. Apparently, there's one here too. Apparently, Ezio had managed to get that one safely away from the Templars without losing everyone he ever cared about. But eventually they run out of things to talk about that have already happen. They start to talk about the future instead. Aguilar still can't make plans, still can't put down roots. He doesn't feel at home no matter where he goes or how far he travels, and he misses his people too much._

 _Ezio, on the other hand, is traveling to Masyaf to find some relic left behind by Altair himself. Aguilar has heard of the famous Assassin of course, and Ezio tells him more of the old mentor's life. They spend many days together, planning and speculating about what might be hidden in that library, and whether it's related to the apples that both of them now have experience with. Aguilar comes to respect Ezio, not just as a mentor but as a person._

 _And then Ezio leaves to find his library. Aguilar keeps in touch by letter, but he has no particular reason anymore to stay in Rome, and soon enough he moves on. He never sees Ezio again._

-/-

The problem with this test, as far as Cal is concerned, is that the kid he's supposed to be fighting is just that. He's some _kid_. Cal's twenty four years old, and he doesn't want to start off his time here by beating some ten year old into the ground.

But what choice does he have? He came here for a reason. He's not going to turn around and leave again without even bothering to try. So when they tell him his opponent has (finally) arrived, Cal sighs and turns around to size the kid up.

And then he freezes, because he knows this kid, only… he's only ever seen him in dreams. And never this young. It's so _weird_. The dreams have been getting clearer and clearer over the years, yea, but something like this is _new_. He turns his head, checking the space around him, desperately hoping Aguilar or Arno will be there, even though neither of them ever really shows up with this many other people around. They never talk about his dreams anymore, and Cal doesn't expect them to know anything about them that he hasn't already figured out himself, but… but _shit_ , he's had dreams about Ezio. There's no way that man's just going to… show up here. Cal's _awake_.

One of the Assassins gives the signal to start, and Cal manages to shake himself into motion. Right. Okay, this is more complicated now, but… it doesn't really change anything. He's here to prove himself, and he _will_. It's just that he's going to have to sit down and have a damn good conversation with Ezio later.

-/-

Okay, so Desmond really hadn't been expecting this. The guy in front of him, the one he's supposed to be fighting to prove he's good enough for the Assassins, is someone he already knows. Aguilar still shows up from time to time in Desmond's dreams—Ezio had known him. For a second after they're supposed to start, Desmond just stands there. He's horribly afraid that this is all just a trick, because he's so used to people like Ezio being invisible to everyone but him, he just… how are they seeing _Aguilar?_

Then the man comes close, and Desmond snaps into position. Right, great—he's got this. Fight first, questions later.

Aguilar seems as surprised to see Desmond as Desmond is to see him. For a second, they just circle each other, taking each other in. Normally, when Desmond fights, he uses a style close to Altair's. They spar together the most often, so it's only natural. But now he finds himself slipping closer to Ezio. He and Aguilar had spent enough time training against each other, half a millennia ago.

He grins, and Desmond finds himself smiling back. "So… should we show off?" he asks quietly. His stomach flips, he can't believe he's _doing_ this. Having a conversation with someone that shouldn't even still be alive, just… talking to a dead man.

Aguilar takes a second to look at him, surprised—then nods. "Yea," he says. "I think we should. Ezio—"

Desmond opens his mouth to protest that he's not Ezio, but it doesn't really matter, does it? Not right at this second.

"Remember—those novices, on Christmas…?"

Desmond almost laughs out loud. He knows exactly what Aguilar is referring to—at Christmas the year they were both in Rome, a group of a half dozen new recruits had showed up on Christmas morning. Aguilar and Ezio had decided, in the spirit of the holiday—and, if Desmond was being honest, because they'd both been a little tipsy—to arrange a mock fight in front of the new recruits, going all out and showing off everything they could do.

"I think I can handle that," Desmond says, and away they go.

-/-

They spend twenty five minutes sparring before the mentor calls it off. Cal looks up at Miles, and grins at the slack look of surprise on his face. Then he looks back at Ezio and holds out his hand for him to shake. "Nice working with you again," he says quietly. "We should talk later."

"Definitely," Ezio says, taking the hand.

Then, suddenly, Cal feels a hand on his shoulder. When he turns around, he sees a big man there, calm and confident and—if his bearing is anything to go by—clearly a high ranked Assassin. "We need to talk," he says, and he doesn't sound as happy as Cal thinks he should. They'd kicked _ass_ , him and Ezio both.

"Sure," he says, trying to sound confident instead of worried.

"Come with me."

The man gestures for Cal to follow him, so Cal does exactly that. They walk for at least five minutes, until they're very definitely out of earshot of everyone else. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I—just practice, I guess," Cal says. "Why?"

"Because you showed a level of skill that suggests years of careful practice," the man says. "And more than likely a skilled teacher. So who trained you?"

Cal isn't stupid enough to explain about Aguilar and Arno. "No one," he says.

"You're lying."

The words are like a slap in the face, and Cal's anger rises up like a sharp flame. "I'm not lying," he snaps. "So basically, your problem with me is that I'm _too_ good?"

"My problem is that I don't know where you learned what you know," he says. "And for all I know, you've been training with Templars."

"Templars!" Cal turns away and scowls. He's never met one, but he's heard plenty about them from Arno and Aguilar. "Shit, are you kidding me? I'm—I want to be an _Assassin_ , I came here to prove myself—"

"And you didn't," the man says. "You're just too good for us to trust you."

-/-

"I'm not… too good," Desmond tells his dad. "Dad, you asked me to prove myself and I did. So what's the problem now?"

"The problem is I want to know how you got that good," his dad says. "Because if someone's been training you on their own, they need to be disciplined. You weren't supposed to be learning any of this until—if and when—you were ready!"

Desmond laughs, but it's more of a nervous laugh than an amused laugh, because there's nothing funny about this and he feels like his control of the situation is slipping away. "I am ready," he insists. "I just proved it today. No one trained me, I am _ready_ to be an Assassin."

"No you're not," his dad says. "In fact, with that attitude, I don't think you'll ever be ready."

"But—"

"We'll talk about it again in a year," his dad says, turning away. "Maybe you'll be ready then."

And that's when it clicks. Desmond realizes that his dad has never wanted him to be an Assassin. "So why don't you want me to be an Assassin?" he asks, staring at his dad's back.

A long pause. For a minute, Desmond thinks he won't even answer.

"Because it's dangerous," his dad says at last. "And I want to see you stay safe."

"That's not what being an Assassin is about," Desmond says. "If I wanted to stay safe, I wouldn't be trying so hard."

And then he knows something else. He knows that he'd been right all along, and he just can't stay.

-/-

Cal runs, first chance he gets. He's not going to stay here, surrounded by Assassins that think he's a traitor, while he still has his freedom and the ability to leave.

And when he's a mile out, he finds the last person he'd expected. "Ezio," he says, and the boy turns around to look at him.

"Aguilar?" he asks. "What are you doing out here?"

Cal debates correcting him, debates giving his real name. In the end, caution wins out. He's just been accused of being a Templar spy. Maybe it's not the best idea to go around giving out all the information about himself. "I'm running," he says instead. "Apparently, I'm too well trained to join the Assassins."

"Yea," Ezio mutters. "Me too. Sucks."

They look at each other. "So," Cal says. "If we're not going to fit in there—"

"Let's go find somewhere we _do_ fit," Ezio says, and the grin on his face makes Cal smile too.

"Sounds like the best idea I've heard in ages," he says.

 **-/-**

 **So I know people usually point out how similar Altair and Desmond look, but honestly I can't picture how Ezio looks without thinking of Desmond. xD**


	9. Chapter 9

Aguilar steals a car, a nice one, and Desmond spends an embarrassing several minutes hanging out of the window, watching the roads race by. "Never been this far away from the Farm," he says.

"That right?" Aguilar asks. They're on a long, flat stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, and they haven't seen another car for ages, so he just looks away from the road and watches for a second.

"Yep." Desmond looks back, and meets Aguilar's gaze for a second, before pointing at the road. "Shouldn't you be watching that?"

"Probably." Aguilar looks back at the road, adjusts the car so it'll stay in the right lane, and nods. "I guess I'm just wondering… look, if you've never left that place… you're not really Ezio, are you?"

Desmond hesitates. For some reason, he's still oddly reluctant to explain that he's not Ezio. Because then he'll have to explain how he knows what Ezio and Aguilar went through together, and then he'll have to explain about all the people he sees that no one else can see.

"I'm… as close as you're going to get here and now," he says, after thinking about it for a minute. He keeps his face determinedly pointing forward, but he can't help flicking his eyes sideways to see if he can spot any sign of… judgment from the man in the driver's seat.

"Well," Aguilar says carefully. "I guess you could say I'm not… exactly Aguilar, either."

"What—" Desmond turns to actually look at him. "Really?"

He glances sideways at Desmond and grins. It looks out of place on his face. Desmond—or, technically, Ezio—has seen Aguilar happy before, although it had been rare back then. He'd been coming out of a bad place in his life, and he'd been serious more often than he'd been happy.

"I guess… maybe I'm as close to Aguilar as anyone can be, in the same way you're as close to Ezio as anyone can be."

"In the same way?" Desmond shakes his head. "No, I doubt that."

Aguilar—or whoever he is—shrugs. "Well, whatever. Do… you want to tell me your real name?"

"No," Desmond says. "Do you want to tell me yours?"

"Not really," Aguilar says. "So do we just keep… using these names?"

Desmond thinks about what Ezio would say about Desmond using his name. He'd probably get a kick out of it. "Yea," he says. "I think we're going to have to keep doing that."

"Well, I don't mind," Aguilar says. "Next question—where are we going?"

"Who needs an Assassin?" Desmond asks. "Where can we do some good?"

Aguilar thinks about this for a second. "Well," he says. "Anywhere there's Templars."

"So anywhere Abstergo is?"

"Abstergo?" Aguilar repeats. "They make like the medicines and stuff, right? They run the free clinics."

"Yea," Desmond says. "I guess. But they're a front for the Templars."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I wasn't allowed to actually get involved with the Assassins, but I heard them talking. They always talked about the Templars and Abstergo interchangeably."

Aguilar nods to himself. A half mile later, he follows signs to a rest stop and pulls the car over to look at Desmond. "Then maybe that's where we need to be. At Abstergo, where the Templars are."

"I don't know." Desmond says. "That's… there's tons of them, aren't there? It's like a huge company, it's all over the world. We're two people, how are we supposed to do anything against something that big?"

"Yea," Aguilar says. "And if everyone thought like that, they'd never get taken down. Come on, Ezio. No one thinks we can do anything but we _can._ You and me… we can fight. And we want to fight, for the Assassins. This is how we do that!"

"Okay," Desmond says, surprised by the outburst. "But I guess I just… I don't know… what are we doing?"

"I don't know yet," Aguilar says. He sounds very excited about that. "We—I guess we start with gathering information. They're Templars, so they're up to something. Let's… find out what it is."

Desmond hesitates. "I just… don't want to feel like we're wasting our time," he says. "I want to be useful."

"And how else could we do that?" Aguilar asks. "Assassins are useful when we fight Templars. This isn't…" He hesitated. "This isn't like when Aguilar and Ezio…. I mean… the _real_ Aguilar and Ezio, met each other in Rome."

"Little bit different," Desmond agrees. "Yea."

"We can't just sneak into some big house and kill whatever Templar lives there. We need information."

"Oh," Desmond says. "Great. Fun."

Aguilar cracks a smile. "It's not supposed to be fun," he says. "We have a duty. That's what they always taught me. Assassins have a duty to take care of people, and usually that means protecting them from Templars. So… let's go spy on some Templars."

Desmond cracks a smile. "Yea," he says. "Guess that doesn't sound too bad."

Aguilar reaches over and starts the car again. "Do you know where the Templars are?" he asks. "Like… what city Abstergo's in?"

"No clue."

"Me neither," Aguilar says.

"Road trip," Desmond says, and Aguilar laughs as he puts the car in gear and drives them away. They'll find Abstergo eventually. It's a big company, and they don't have anywhere specific to find. Desmond can't help feeling a little excited. They were finally going to find Templars, and do… well, they could figure out what they were going to do later.

First—they have their road trip.

-/-

The first night, because they don't have money and don't trust anyone, Cal just pulls over on the side of the road. They're out in the middle of nowhere, with cars passing by maybe every half hour—as the evening stretches out into night, the space between the cars slow and eventually stops. They're the only ones left out here.

Cal climbs up on the roof of the car and lies down as flat as he can on the metal roof, staring up at the stars. Ezio settles himself on the ground nearby, and after a while he seems to fall asleep. Cal doesn't. He's waiting, and sure enough when Ezio's eyes are closed and his breathing has slowed, Aguilar shows up. The real one—or… well, _real_ isn't quite right. He's pretty much just in Cal's head, as far as Cal knows.

"You're taking my name in vain now?" Aguilar asks, perching on the edge of the car next to Cal, legs hanging over the edge of the roof.

"No," Cal says. He keeps his voice low, just in case it wakes Ezio. "Pretty sure you have to be God or something for me to take your name in vain."

"Well, God I am not," Aguilar says, and they both smile. By now, they know each other well enough to be able to sit in silence together, to let long pauses in the conversation drag out.

"You're not me," Aguilar says, when the pause has run out.

Cal shifts uncomfortably. Suddenly, the car doesn't feel very comfortable under his back. "I know."

"That kid's not Ezio."

Cal closes his eyes, and stops trying to find a comfortable spot. Apparently, that's not going to happen. "I know that too," he agrees.

"So what are you two _doing_?" Aguilar asks, and there's genuine disappointment in his voice. "Cal, I've watched you grow into a man that can fight your own battles. You have a mind full of opinions and a strong identity of your own. You don't need mine."

"It just feels right for now," Cal says. "I know I'm me and you're you."

He expects more argument from Aguilar. What he doesn't expect is a long silence, and then, quietly, "Well sometimes I _don't_."

"I… sorry?" Cal turns to look more closely at Aguilar. "What don't you know, exactly?"

"Arno and I don't exist without you anymore," Aguilar said quietly. "You don't understand what it's like—when we're not… physically here, with you… we're not _anywhere_. I don't like you using my name as yours. It makes me—" He pushes off the roof of the car. "I start to doubt there even is a me. Or only a you."

"Aguilar—"

But before the man can answer, he just dissipates into nothing, fading into the wind and the starlight. Cal leans back onto the car roof, hands pressed to his face. Where is this even _coming_ from? Aguilar's never said anything like that—even Arno, who's usually way more forthcoming, hasn't ever said anything like this to him before.

"Not fair," Cal mutters. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

But there's no answer. Cal eventually manages to fall asleep, but he's uncomfortable and uneasy the entire night.

 **-/-**

 **Sorry this chapter's taken so long to get out, work's been a nightmare lately. :( Like, a literal nightmare, like I come home from 10/12 hour days and then have stupid dreams about it. :/**

 **Anyway, point is here's the chapter, and I apologize for delays beyond my control.**


	10. Chapter 10

They eventually settle on an Abstergo facility on the East coast, which means several days' worth of road tripping before they actually get there. Desmond doesn't mind it. He sort of really likes traveling cross country with Aguilar, talking to someone that isn't going to underestimate him. Aguilar actually talked to him like he was a real person, like he was an _Assassin_. They talked for hours, mostly about their plans for infiltrating Abstergo. Sometimes about other stuff. But Desmond didn't want to dwell on the Farm, and Aguilar seemed to be hiding some unhappy parts of his own past.

The only, minor, drawback is that every time Aguilar says _Ezio_ instead of _Desmond_ , it makes Desmond feel a little bit more like a liar. Ezio himself—who won't show up as long as Aguilar is awake or around—thinks it's hilarious. A couple of nights, when Aguilar fell asleep before Desmond, Ezio has showed up just to prowl around and comment on how similar he looks to Aguilar.

Desmond isn't entirely sure how the others feel. Altair, Connor, and Haytham are much more reserved than Ezio is, and even after all this time, it's hard for Desmond to get a read on them if they don't want him to. Hopefully they won't disapprove too badly.

"We shouldn't stay in direct contact while we're in there," Aguilar tells Desmond when they get close.

"Why not?" Desmond asks. He can't help feeling a little bit anxious—he's far away from home, and there's no one here he knows except for Aguilar. There's always the chance he'll see Altair, Ezio, Haytham, or Connor more often when Aguilar isn't here. But—

"It might draw suspicion," Aguilar says. "This way, even if one of us messes up, the other one can get away safely.

"But what if something comes up?" Desmond asks. "What if one of us finds something and we need to get word to the other? Or what if something bad happens, and we need to warn—"

"We'll set something up," Aguilar interrupts. His mouth twitches up into a smile. "Don't worry so much. We're good enough to do this. We're going to prove everyone wrong, and we're going to do some good."

He has this way of talking—calm, totally in control—that reminds Desmond of the real Aguilar. It makes him feel more comfortable with all this, and almost against his better judgment, he relaxes. "Alright," he says. "Then we'll do this, I guess."

Aguilar sighs. "Yea," he says, with sarcasm so thick Desmond could probably cut it with a knife. "I _guess_ we'll go infiltrate the Templars, figure out what they're up to, and then kick some ass."

For a second there's silence, and then Aguilar's eyes dart sideways to meet Desmond's, and they both grin. Desmond reaches forward and punches the radio on. The car fills up with music and noise, and in seconds they're both talking excitedly again, making plans and figuring things out.

-/-

Cal and Ezio separate about three miles out from the city. Cal keeps the car because he can drive, and Ezio—looking suddenly younger and smaller than he has so far—sets off for the city on his own.

"You're really going to let him go in alone?" Arno asks, appearing at Cal's side almost as soon as Ezio is out of sight.

"That's the plan," Cal says. He glances sideways at Arno. "We talked about it. And I'll keep an eye on him, I'm not just—"

"Not going to let him walk into the Templars alone?" Arno asks softly.

"He can handle this," Cal says. "He can. I have faith in him."

"You barely know him," Arno says. "You only just met."

"And I trust him," Cal says.

"Cal—"

"Arno." He turns his eyes back to the road. "He's an Assassin. He's a good guy. And I _trust_ him."

Arno considers him for a long minute, then nods. "Well," he says. "I guess it's up to you and him, and neither of you has a problem with it." He sighs, and props his elbow up on the car's window ledge. "You'll be okay, won't you?"

"Me?" Cal says. "Yea, I'll be fine."

"You're walking into the fire right with him," Arno says. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Cal hadn't doubted until he heard that, but now—

He picked a quiet spot and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Do you think I'm ready?" he asks. If Arno doesn't think he can do this—if Arno _or_ Aguilar doesn't think he can do this, either of them—then Cal will go find Ezio and pull him out of there right now, they'll turn around and just leave. If Cal doesn't have their confidence, he doesn't have anything.

"I want to know what you think," Arno says. "Cal. Do you think you're ready?"

Cal fights down his sudden nerves, looks at Arno, and thinks about his answer, thinks _hard_. He understands that they're diving into something dangerous. But he also understands that he's been training for this for years. "Yes," he says. "I think I'm ready."

"Then so do I," Arno says. "And so does Aguilar."

Something in Cal's stomach shifts. "About Aguilar," he says quietly. "I saw him a few days ago, and he mentioned… it sounds like he's having some issues."

Arno visibly hesitates. "It's nothing new," he says quietly. "You have to understand, when we're not with you, here, talking to you, we're sort of… within you."

"Within—what does that mean?"

Arno doesn't answer his question directly. Instead, he asks, "Where do you think Aguilar is right now?"

"I mean…" Cal is startled, he'll admit that. "I've wondered," he admits. "But I guess… I don't know."

"He's…" Arno gestures to Cal. "He's in your mind, he's looking out through your eyes, he's hearing what you hear."

Cal can't help shivering a little at that description. Arno presses on anyway, almost remorseless as he continues.

"He's not even really… Aguilar right now. He's just this kind of floating cloud, halfway between you and him."

"And you know that…" Cal hesitates. "Because that's what happens to you too, right? When you're not here? You're just… nothing? Or you're me, somehow? I don't… think I understand."

"Neither do we," Arno says quietly. "That's why we never said anything. This is our burden, not yours."

Cal looks at Arno in disbelief. "Listen," he says. "If you're sort of me, then I'm sort of you. And even if you weren't, you'd still be the closest thing I have to family. If you two have a problem, tell me. Please. We're in this together, aren't we?"

"There's nothing you can do, Cal." Arno waves a dismissive hand. "It's been a long time. We're used to it. Or I am. It worries Aguilar, like you noticed. But… we're used to it."

"But—"

"Cal." Arno reaches over, and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much. This is something Aguilar and I have to deal with, just like you have problems of your own that _you_ have to deal with. So go. Think about the Templars, and about Ezio or whatever his name is."

"Fine," Cal says. He leans over to restart the car. "But we're going to talk about this later, alright?" As he turns the car out into traffic, he happens to glance back in Arno's direction. The man is already gone, and Cal is alone again. Or not alone, not really, because now he knows that they are there inside his head.

He shifts uncomfortably, and focuses on reaching Abstergo.

-/-

Desmond finds it surprisingly easy to creep his way into Abstergo's building. They're looking for part time workers, and it feels a little like selling his soul to the devil, but Desmond takes a job. Nothing special, not yet. But Desmond knows he won't be washing dishes in the employee cafeteria forever. He'll listen, and he'll keep his eyes wide open. And someday he'll learn something, or he'll make a connection, or he'll wander into the right place at the right time. Already, just from the brief interview and an hour of orientation, Desmond can see flaws, weaknesses and places he can go worming his way deeper into the building. He doesn't care what his actual job is. He cares about how easy it'll be to dive deeper into the Templars, and find some actual information.

Besides. It's only part time. That means Desmond has _hours_ every day to wander this new city, to be somewhere other than the Farm for the first time in his life. And then there's Aguilar.

That first day, Desmond can't relax, he's stiff as a board, waiting to catch a glimpse of his friend, half terrified that they won't meet up again. They do, of course. Aguilar is watching out for him. But until the moment when Desmond—confused and worried and maybe even a little homesick—steps out of the Abstergo building, and actually _sees_ Aguilar walk past him on the sidewalk, he isn't sure what to think.

And then he sees Aguilar, and everything is okay.

By the way his friend is walking, Desmond guesses he doesn't want to talk—after all, they aren't supposed to know each other. So Desmond follows at a distance, keeping himself casual. After about fifteen minutes of walking, he follows Aguilar into a slightly rundown apartment building. In the lobby—empty for the moment—Aguilar turns and hands him a key.

"You got us an apartment?" Desmond asks, turning the key over in his hands. "You've been… busy."

"I've done this before," Aguilar tells him. "Walked into a new town and started my life over from scratch. Figured you've never had to do that, and I should help you out." He nods at the key. "And I got us _two_ apartments. Next to each other, but as far as anyone else knows… that has to be coincidence, okay? We have to stay strangers."

"Got it," Desmond says, pocketing the key. He's already noticed the faint number seventeen embossed on the side. It's not hard to figure out which apartment is his new home. "And Aguilar?"

"Yea?"

Desmond grins. "Thanks."

Aguilar smiles back, and for a second puts a hand on Desmond's shoulder. "Just keep doing what you're doing," he says. "Worm your way into Abstergo. Figure out what the Templars are up to."

"What about you?" Desmond asks. "You're going in too, right?"

Aguilar nods. "I'm just going to give it some time first. I don't really think anyone would be suspicious if we showed up at the same day and both started work, but it's better safe than sorry. I'll work somewhere else for a month or two, then come join you. Okay?"

Desmond nods, and smiles. "Sounds perfect," he says.

 **-/-**

 **So fair warning, the next chapter is going to start introducing some new characters. OCs. At least one, maybe more.**

 **Basically... well, Syndicate sort of hinted that Desmond has a kid out there, and I want that kid in this story! Which means his mother will have to be in it too, and... well, that means OCs. I'm sorry if that bothers anyone, but here's your warning if you want to stop reading because of that.**

 **(Also I'm sorry for taking almost two weeks to write this...)**


	11. Chapter 11

There's a girl that works with Ezio. Quiet, keeps her head down, rarely talks to anyone. She works a cash register at Abstergo's employee cafeteria, and Ezio works in the dishroom. Cal's up in the mailroom, so he rarely sees them. But when he does…

Technically, he's an employee too. So sometimes, he stops in at the employee cafeteria, and watches Ezio. It's been nine months since they got here, nine months of sneaking around the building, listening to conversations, gathering information every way they can. Cal's actually pretty proud of how much they've managed to learn. They know the names of a lot of Templars now, who they are and what they do and why they need to be stopped. Cal's pretty sure they'll be able to start making plans soon, to move beyond information gathering and into actually stopping the Templars, _but_ —

But there's still this girl that works with Ezio. Quiet, keeps her head down, rarely talks to anyone, _unless_ Ezio is around. Cal's seen her light up when he's around, and he's seen Ezio's face brighten in response. More and more, Cal's seen them arranging to take their breaks at the same time, or sneaking out even when they should have been at work. Ezio hasn't let himself slack at all in regards to gathering information about the Templars, but Cal just can't help worrying.

Aguilar and Arno don't share his concerns. Arno especially seems to have a soft spot for Ezio and his new friend, and even Aguilar can't muster more than a perfunctory amount of worry. Cal's pretty sure the man is just humoring him, which doesn't help anything.

"There's nothing wrong with falling in love when you're young," Arno tells Cal one night. It's late, and the two of them are alone in Cal's apartment. Ever since he found out that Arno and Aguilar spend most of their days trapped in his mind, Cal's tried to find time every day to just be on his own. That's the only time they ever come out, when he's alone, and Cal wants to give them more of a chance to do that.

Today, though, the topic of conversation has him almost wishing they weren't here. "Is that what he's doing?" he asks. "Falling in love?"

Arno's lips twitch up into a smile. "Yes, Cal," he says. "That's what falling in love looks like."

"I thought…" Cal frowns, struggling for words. "He's too young to fall in love, isn't he? He's just a kid. What does he know about love?"

"It's not about what you know," Arno tells him. "Nobody knows how to fall in love until it happens to them, and then—it's just the easiest thing in the world."

Cal squints over at him, almost suspicious. "Have _you_ ever been in love?" he asks.

"Oh yes," Arno says vaguely. Cal frowns—Arno's words are too casual, somehow, like he's hiding some great pain behind an easy air. "Her name was Elise, and loving her, it was… as easy as falling. All you have to do is take one step, and then let gravity take over."

Cal nods. He can't bring himself to ask after Elise, not when Arno has that look on his face. "But Ezio," he presses. "He's just a kid. And if he takes his eyes off the Templars, he's going to get hurt. I'm worried about him."

"Don't be," Arno says. "There are some things in life you can't give up on, and you can't take away from people. Falling in love is one of those things."

"It might just be a crush," Cal says, without much real hope. For months, he's watched Ezio grow closer to this girl. Waited for one or the other to get tired of it. And it hasn't happened. They're still together, still looking at each other like there's no one else in the world that matters, still…

Cal sighs. "So what do I do?"

And Arno's answer is probably as unhelpful as it's possible to get. "Nothing," he says. " Just let him be happy."

-/-

But Cal can't quiet let it go. Ezio is… he's someone Cal wants to look after. There are times, when they're arranging their information and making plans for which Templars they might be able to go after eventually, when Ezio almost seems like an adult. But when their conversations turn more casual, Ezio seems much more like a child. He's never left that shitty little farm before Cal picked him up, and it shows. He's curious about everything, eager to see, to do, to try.

Cal's started to think of him as a little brother. He didn't plan it, but they're both without a family, and Cal… it's been so long since he's had a family, he almost doesn't remember what it's like. Ezio gives that back to him. Cal has someone to take care of now, someone to worry over, and worry he does.

Which is why he carefully times his lunch the next day to be at a time he knows Ezio will be out. He goes to the counter where the girl is working, and patiently waits in line until it's his turn to order, and he finds himself face to face with her.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks, smiling. The expression seems automatic, something ingrained in her after months of working at a glorified food court, but no less friendly for all that.

"Yea," Cal says. "But look, I'm not here to order anything, I just want some answers." When her smile slips, and she starts to look nervous, Cal shakes his head. "You and E—Terry." Somehow, he always manages to forget the fake name Ezio's using here. He's so used to thinking of him as _Ezio_ , sometimes Cal isn't sure he'd remember his real name if he ever heard it. "You guys are close, right?"

The smile comes back. The girl ducks her head, won't meet her eyes, and fidgets with her sleeve as a fresh smile curves its way across her face. It's genuine this time, no longer an ingrained habit, but something honest. "Yes," she admits. "He's… something really special."

So she can see it too. Cal nods, ever so slightly. "Listen…" He hesitates, glancing down until he can read her nametag. "Myrtle. That kid has been through some bad times. He's been hurt. And if you hurt him, if you ever hurt him…"

He lets the sentence trail off, intending it as a warning. But Myrtle doesn't seem to take it that way. She looks back up at Cal, shaking her head.

"I never will," she says. "I don't know what's going to happen next with us. But I didn't need you to tell me that he's been through hard times. He's hurting. He's healing, he's getting better, but I _know_ he's been hurt. And whatever happens in the future, I won't let him get hurt any more than he already has been." She looks at him, earnest. "I've promised him, and I'll promise you the same thing."

Cal studies her for a long time, and in the end nods. He's not convinced that Myrtle is good enough for Ezio, but he's at least convinced now that she doesn't intend to hurt him. "I'll hold you to that promise," he says, and then pushes himself away from the counter.

-/-

That night, after Desmond's shift ends, he hangs around for another half hour, until Myrtle gets off as well. Something in him lights up when she meets him outside, just like it always does. Ezio says it looks like love, but Altair says he's putting her in danger, Connor warns him to be careful, and Haytham stays silent, keeping his council to himself.

Desmond tries to be cautious, he really does. But… it turns out he's not very good at it.

"Hey," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the wall, trying to look casual.

"Hey yourself," Myrtle says. She's holding a jacket draped over her hands in front of her, and when she speaks she looks down at it, blushing and smiling—cautiously, Desmond reaches a hand out to her, and after a second or two she takes it. Even after a few months, Desmond still feels so nervous every time they're together like this. He's never met a girl that would look at him twice, not until Myrtle, and he has no idea what to do now that she's here, holding his hand, her shoulder brushing his as they head out.

They head for a park nearby, a splash of green in a city that's pretty much entirely gray. It's where they usually go when they hang out after work, and today they don't even say anything before heading there. It's not until they're sprawled out on their favorite spot—an out of the way patch of grass under a wide, leafy shade tree—that Desmond says anything.

"Why are you working there?" he asks, as he settles himself down, cross legged, in front of her.

Myrtle sits with her back against the tree, watching him with a slight smile on her face. "What kind of question is that to ask?" she says. "I'm working there because I need the money. Same as you, right?"

Desmond grins, because that's not really the reason at all, and for some reason that makes Myrtle laugh. " _What_?" he asks, smile growing.

"I don't know," she says. "Sometimes you just get this look on your face—and it makes me wonder what's going on in your head. You're… I don't know. Mysterious."

"Never thought I was mysterious."

"You're a lot of things."

"Good things?" Desmond asks.

Myrtle's face softens, and she shifts toward him slightly. "Good things," she says quietly.

A warm, patchy redness heats Desmond's face when she says that. He isn't used to hearing people tell him things like that, and from Myrtle, somehow—it means more.

The thing is, they haven't known each other long. And they don't know each other well—not yet. Desmond… really hopes that's going to change. He _really_ hopes he's going to get to know her better, because even as they are right now—

He keeps thinking about her smile. About the way she plays with her hair when she's distracted, about the way he sometimes catches her looking at him…

Desmond sits up, and edges closer to Myrtle, pressing his back against the tree trunk next to her. And for a long while after that, they just sit, and talk, until finally the sun starts to go down.

"I guess I should head home," Desmond says, making a face. "And—your parents will be worried about you, right?" Myrtle was the same age as he was, seventeen, but her life is worlds away from his. She has school, high school now and college soon, she has parents and sisters, all kinds of stuff Desmond has never had and never will.

Maybe some of that shows on his face, because Myrtle looks over at him, expression suddenly worried. "Hey," she says. "So… I know we don't talk about your family much, but things are okay for you, right?"

"Yea," Desmond says. "Fine. Everything's good."

"It's just that your brother came to see me earlier."

"My… brother? Oh." She means Aguilar, doesn't she? Desmond can't imagine she's talking about anyone else.

"He is your brother, isn't he?" Myrtle asks. "Sorry, I just assumed—I guess he is sort of old to be your brother."

Aguilar's about a decade older than Desmond is, but he rarely thinks about it anymore. "No," he mutters. "It's fine, he's not… exactly my brother… I mean, it's complicated…" He trails off, and then looks at Myrtle in concern. "What did he come to see you for?"

"I think he was vetting me," Myrtle said with a little laugh. "Trying to decide if I was good enough for you."

Desmond turns bright red, but Myrtle only laughs and reaches out for his hand. "Myrtle—"

"No," she says. "It's fine. I'm glad you have someone like that looking out for you. I worry about you sometimes."

"I can take care of myself," Desmond says. More than she'll ever know, really. After all, he's an Assassin.

"But you shouldn't have to," Myrtle says. She glances at him, sideways, a small smile creeping across her face. "I can look out for you too."

Desmond opens his mouth to say something. To say.. he doesn't know what. That he can take care of himself, and even if he couldn't, he has Aguilar to do that. But the truth is, he likes the idea of her looking out for him. Thinking about him.

"We'll look out for each other," Desmond says, and Myrtle leans over to kiss his cheek—it's a sudden, electric movement that makes Desmond actually stumble in surprise.

"I like that," she tells him.

-/-

Later that night, as Desmond sits in bed, organizing some of the intel he and Aguilar have been able to gather, Haytham shows up on the other side of the room.

"Hmm," Desmond says, nodding in greeting. He's still distracted. Still thinking about Myrtle.

"Desmond," Haytham says, and just hearing his own name is enough to drag some of Desmond's attention onto Haytham. He's so many different people these days, sometimes he almost forgets who he really is. He's Ezio to Aguilar, he's Terry to the people at Abstergo. The only people that call him Desmond are the ones in his head.

"Sorry," he says, putting his papers down. "Did you want to talk about something?"

"Have you considered that you may be spending too much time with this girl?" Haytham asks. "That you may be confusing a certain loneliness on your part for more genuine affection?"

"Uh…" Desmond squints at Haytham. Usually he doesn't have too much of a problem following Haytham, but the man has a habit of getting more verbose when he's uncomfortable. "You're… asking if I really like Myrtle, or if I just don't want to be alone."

"Essentially, yes," Haytham says. "Desmond, you have had very little experience in the world. You insist on spending your time trying to take down the Templars—"

Desmond grins. "I'm an Assassin," he reminds Haytham.

"And I reluctantly admit that I have no say in that," Haytham says, almost impatient. " _Yes_ , but my point is that in all that, you have had very little contact with other people. Particularly with women. This is the first time you have ever had a female friend, Desmond. Have you considered that she may be no more than that?"

Desmond goes quiet for a long time. "No," he says at last. "I haven't really thought about that."

"You should," Haytham suggests.

But Desmond shakes his head. "No," he says. "I… don't think I will. I like Myrtle. And… I guess we'll see where it goes, but for now…" He nods to himself, more determinedly. "For now, I really like her."

"You are in over your head," Haytham warns him.

Desmond shrugs. "Then I guess I like being in over my head."

 **-/-**

 **Speedy chapter, because I'm so nervous about this one, I just wanted it out of the way. xD Introducing OCs is hard, and writing flirting is hard, so... this chapter was really hard.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Just as an update:**

 **This chapter takes place in late 2004. Desmond is 17, Cal is 26.**

 **-/-**

It's taken a while, but Desmond is really starting to feel like he has a life of his own out here. He has his work—which isn't much, really, he's still just working in Abstergo's cafeteria, listening as hard as he can and remembering everything he hears. But behind that he also has his work as an Assassin, and he has something like a home in the little apartment that's all _his_ , something like family in Aguilar, and something like… something _else_ in Myrtle.

Life's getting better, it really is, but it's not until one day in late August that things really change. That's the day when Aguilar shows up at Desmond's door, and—just completely out of the blue—he announces that it's time to act.

"No more gathering information," he tells Desmond. The two of them are in Desmond's apartment (it's smaller than Aguilar's, but also neater), talking quietly, making plans. "If this goes well and if we don't get caught, then we might be able to come back to this, and gather even more."

"But this guy—he's important enough to risk everything?" Desmond asks.

"Not much to risk, is there?" Aguilar says. "If our cover gets blown here, we'll just move on somewhere else."

Logically, Desmond knows he has a point. Emotionally, he can't keep himself from feeling suddenly nervous. This is it. This is the real deal. He's been training since he was a kid, but he's never actually killed anyone before. He's never really fought a Templar, and he doesn't know if—he just doesn't know if he's up to it.

"You okay?" Aguilar asks.

"Are you?" Desmond asks, almost desperate. He doesn't want to be the only one that's afraid.

"I don't know," Aguilar says. "It's what we have to do—it's what we've _decided_ to do.

"We're going to be killers," Desmond says, voice suddenly quiet.

Aguilar steps forward, takes Desmond by the shoulders, steering him back toward his bed. When Desmond has been backed onto the bed, and he's sitting there looking nervously up at Aguilar, the man gives him a small smile.

"We're going to be Assassins," he says. "I'm not saying we need to kill this guy just for fun. He's dangerous. You _know_ he's dangerous. Arthur Chambers. Tell me about him."

Desmond takes a breath, forcing his nervous brain to focus. He does know how dangerous this guy is. They've been sitting around, gathering information for months. "He works in Abstergo's medical department," Desmond says. "They develop products that monitor people, and tell them it's to keep better track of their help. Chambers has started working on ways to introduce hormones and chemicals into some of their products that will alter the moods of their users. He wants to make people docile."

Aguilar nods. "And look." He ducks away for a second, and pulls a newspaper out of his backpack. It's already flipped to the article Aguilar wants him to see when he tosses it to Desmond.

"What's this?"

"Chambers has been testing one of his products," Aguilar says, and there's something—cold in his voice. Steely. "That's an article on his test group. Thirty people. Eighteen dead, four still in the hospital. All because he's trying to mess with peoples' emotions."

"Oh," Desmond says quietly, dropping his eyes to the newspaper. "But… isn't he going to get into trouble for this? If all those people died?"

"No," Cal says. "Abstergo slipped something into their waivers, and basically it means that anything that happens during the tests are _their_ faults. That's an article about how Abstergo is suing the people that tested their stuff. He's ruining lives, and he's going to keep doing it to more people."

"So we have to kill him," Desmond says. He can't bring himself to read the article, so he sets it aside and looks up at Aguilar. "It's the only way to stop him, right?"

"I believe it is," Aguilar says. "And so do you, or we wouldn't be here."

"Okay," Desmond says.

"Okay? You're sure?"

" _Okay_ ," Desmond says again. "Let's just… take some time. Figure out how to do this right. I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent," Aguilar recites, and Desmond nods. Yea. He's heard the tenant a thousand times before, but this time, somehow… it's just different. It feels more important. "Yea, Ezio. We'll definitely figure out the best way to do this before we make a move."

"Thank you," Desmond says quietly. He raises his eyes, looks up at Aguilar, and then—past him.

In the doorway, watching him from under his hood, is Altair. Desmond stares, momentarily shocked out of his worry about killing Chambers. He's _never_ seen Altair, or any of the others, for that matter, show up when other people are around.

"We'll be with you," Altair says, and Desmond's face melts in relief. It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay.

"Did you hear something?" Aguilar asks abruptly, turning around. Altair vanishes as he turns, so that by the time Aguilar's looking in his direction, there's nothing there to see. But—he'd _heard_ that?

"I…" He's not quite sure how to handle this. "What did you think you heard?"

"Dunno," Aguilar says. "Just like a whisper, or something—must be my imagination, though." He turns back to Desmond. "So if you're up for this—let's spend the week on this. We'll figure out a plan, and meet back here next Friday to talk it over."

"Sounds good," Desmond says.

Aguilar doesn't linger much longer after that. Once he's gone, Desmond gets up to bolt the door behind him. And then he stands in front of the door, thinking hard. In a week, everything's going to be different. He's going to be different.

Quietly, he pads over to his phone and dials Myrtle's number from memory. "Hey," he says, after she answers. "Can you come over for a while?"

-/-

In the end, Desmond spends as much time with Myrtle over that next week as he does trying to figure out the best way to assassinate Chambers. They spend hours talking, almost every night. About stupid shit. About important stuff. And finally, the night before he's supposed to meet back up with Aguilar to officially plan out the assassination, he realizes—Ezio's been telling him, they've _all_ been telling him, all along, but he'd never believed it until now—that he's in love with her.

That's the night they sleep together.

Late, after, they lie in bed together, soft music playing from the radio on the other side of the room. Desmond can feel the weight of Myrtle tucked against him, her hair soft against his arm. Right now, it's impossible to think about the fact that he's about to help kill a man.

"So," Myrtle says quietly. "Why now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" It's dark in Desmond's apartment, but Desmond thinks he can almost feel her smile. "I'm not upset that we're… here right now."

"Yea," Desmond says. "Neither am I."

A soft laugh. "I'm happy here. I'm glad things worked out like this. But…" Desmond can hear her shifting around, not quite sitting up, just turning over to look at him. "You're worried about something, aren't you?"

"I…" He could lie. He lies a lot, he spends his whole _life_ lying. Even Aguilar, who Desmond looks up to like an older brother, doesn't know his real name. And this is such a stupid thing to lie about, especially when she's already figured it out. "I am."

"And… is this helping?"

Desmond shifts closer to her. " _You're_ helping," he says. "Just… there's a lot of bad stuff in my life right now. And you're something good."

"Yea?" She sounds honestly pleased by the compliment. "You're something good too. I… at home, I'm not… things are hard there, you know? My mom has very _specific_ ideas about what she wants me to do with my life, and it's _hard_. I just… I don't want other people to make my decisions for me, I want… I want to choose for myself."

"I know what it's like to have parents that… look, my dad… he…"

Desmond struggles with words for a minute, then trails off and sighs. Myrtle laughs.

"I get it," she says. "I know. But… I chose you, Terry. And you chose me. I think that means something."

"Desmond," he says. "That's… my real name is Desmond."

"Desmond," Myrtle whispers, and the sound of his name—his _real_ name, not Terry, or Aguilar, but _Desmond_ —almost makes him want to cry. "It fits you."

And Desmond turns, just enough to wrap an arm around her, pull her close, and kiss her.

 **-/-**

 **So I don't usually write relationships that end up in sex so quickly, but according to the wiki page, Desmond's kid is born in 2005. That means that if it's going to happen, it kind of needs to happen _soon_. xD And I really want him to show up, so it's going to happen.**

 **(Also come _on_ , FFN, it's 2017. I just want to link to a wiki page for a character. Let me put links in my documents... )**


	13. Chapter 13

Cal's driving home from work, flipping idly through radio stations, trying to find one with decent reception, when he hears something unexpected. He's stopped at a news station, about to flip past it to something else, when he hears the name Arthur Chambers.

That's a Templar, that's _their_ Templar, the one Ezio and Cal are going to kill. He frowns and turns up the volume so he can hear the report better.

 _Noted bioengineer Arthur Chambers was found dead in his home early this morning. Police have not yet issued a statement as to the cause of death, but Mr. Chambers's employer, Abstergo Industries, had this to say about the unexpected passing—_

Cal shuts the radio off before he can hear the rest. He doesn't much care what Abstergo has to say, what he cares about is that his target is suddenly _dead_ , and he had nothing to do with it. Neither did Ezio, as far as he knows. Cal had run into Ezio's girlfriend in the hall outside his apartment last night, just before curfew. It's not the first time he's heard her in the room next door. Cal… just has a hard time convincing himself that Ezio would have had _time_ to go after Chambers, even if he'd been inclined. So that means… what? Coincidence? He just _happened_ to drop dead, days before Cal and Ezio were going to kill him?

"It might be someone else," Aguilar says from the passenger seat. Cal hadn't seen or heard him arrive, but he's used to it enough by now that he doesn't even jump.

"You mean someone else might have killed him?" he asks Aguilar.

"Well," the man says. "Yes."

Cal thinks about that for a minute, mulling it over. Then he shakes his head. "No," he says. "What are the chances of that?"

"What are the chances that another Assassin would have gone after him just _days_ after he makes the news for some truly heinous experiments?"

Cal doesn't have to look over at Aguilar to know _exactly_ what expression the man is wearing. He'll be looking at Cal, one eyebrow raised, flatly unimpressed. "I would say the chances are pretty good," Cal admits. "So… so you're saying there's another Assassin around here somewhere?"

"I'm saying the chances of that are better than the chances of him just dropping dead," Aguilar says. "I've never actually known a Templar to die of natural causes."

"Then maybe you're just too good at your job," Cal suggests. He means it as a joke, but Aguilar doesn't laugh.

"You need to look into this," he says. "If there _is_ another Assassin around, the last thing we need is you and him and Ezio—" He says the name with the same kind of flatness he always does, and Cal sighs. Even after all this time, Aguilar still doesn't approve of the pseudonyms they've given themselves. Cal doubts he ever will. "The last thing we need is all three of you running around, getting in each other's way. Go look for this Assassin."

"And where am I supposed to start?" Cal asks. "It's not exactly an easy task to find someone hiding in plain sight."

"Think of it as a challenge," Aguilar says, and then vanishes as Cal pulls into the parking space in front of his apartment.

Cal cuts off a curse and resigns himself to waiting for Arno. He tends to be more willing to help, or at least more likely to guilted into it. So Cal gets out of the car and trudges upstairs, turns into the bland hallway where his apartment is, and unlocks the door. Steps inside, reaches for the light.

A hand grasps his wrist before he can reach it.

-/-

Desmond is stuck at work late, on the day he's supposed to meet Aguilar and talk about Chambers. One of the guys on the shift before him had called out sick, and no one else had bothered covering for him. By the time Desmond gets in, there's a massive pile of dirty pans waiting, and it takes them hours to get through that, and then there's their _own_ shift worth of dishes to clean, and by the time they're done…

Well, Desmond would be more than ready to get home, even if Aguilar wasn't sitting there waiting for him. This job sucks. Piles and piles of dirty dishes sucks. The way the industrial dishwasher will sometimes spray boiling hot water up at anyone trying to load it— _that_ really sucks. But at the same time… there's something satisfying about getting everyone to work together, watching the work very slowly vanish as they work. It's a simple job, really, especially compared to Desmond's other job, the job of being an Assassin, but sometimes he doesn't mind shutting his mind off and just… working.

"Terry," his boss calls, _just_ as Desmond's about to leave for the day. "Come into my office for a second?"

"Uh…" He's in a rush, but his boss is a decent guy, and Desmond usually doesn't mind stopping in for a chat after work. He doesn't really want to raise suspicion, or act any differently than he ever does. So he nods and turns around, and follows his boss into his office. He's surprised when the man doesn't sit in the folding chair behind his desk, but instead shuffles aside, making room for Desmond to enter the cluttered office behind him. When Desmond's inside as well, he feels his eyes widen. There's a woman inside, sitting on the chair, trying not to look like she's shying away from the mess covering every inch of the office. It doubles as a storage closet, so Desmond can't exactly blame his boss for how cluttered it always is.

This woman clearly does. Then again, it's not really like Desmond would expect anything less of a Templar.

It's Sophia Rikkin sitting behind the desk. She's not very important herself—twenty four years old, still in graduate school—but her father _is_ someone important. Alan Rikkin is one of the most powerful Templars in the world, and Desmond can't imagine any possible reason for his daughter to be sitting _right there_ in front of him. He tenses, ready to fight or flee at the first sign of trouble, mind already racing as he tries to think of a way to warn Aguilar that they've been found out.

"Don't look so nervous," Sophia says. "This is an opportunity, Terry."

"I… what?"

"You probably don't know me," Sophia says, and Desmond wonders how he could possibly not, before remembering that to the rest of the world, she's almost nothing. Just a student with a rich father.

"Uh… no," Desmond says. "Sorry?" He has no idea how to make himself sound normal.

Sophia smiles. "It's perfectly alright," she says. "I wouldn't expect you to—in fact, I'd be worried if you did."

"Sophia's family has been with Abstergo for generations," Desmond's boss says, reminding Desmond he's there. Suddenly, Desmond wishes he wasn't. He doesn't know where this meeting is going, but if it turns nasty, he doesn't want his boss caught up in the middle of it. But he can't think of a way to suggest the man should leave without making it sound weird. "And she came by here asking for—"

"I'm looking for people that shouldn't be where they are," Sophia says, and for a long moment Desmond just stares at her, like a deer in headlights. She knows. She has to know, doesn't she? Saying something like that, she _has_ to know. "People," Sophia goes on, "That are in lower positions than they can handle. People with the intelligence and charisma to make something of themselves, who just… haven't had the opportunity. I've been traveling to Abstergo facilities all over the world, looking for people that are looking for a chance to do something… else."

"And—you think I'm a person like that?" Desmond asks cautiously. He feels so lost in this conversation. Does she know, or doesn't she? What does she _want_?

"Your boss says you're attentive," Sophia says. "Quick to learn, eager to help, always listening. He also says you have no family to speak of."

She pauses. This time it seems pretty obvious that she's waiting for an answer. "Yea," Desmond admits. "My parents are…" He trails off, not quite sure what to say, and she smiles sadly at him.

"I understand," she says. "My mother died when I was young."

Does she think he's an orphan? Well, he might as well be. As far as he's concerned, he's not missing anything if he never sees his parents again. "Does that help you?" he asks.

"Yes," Sophia says. "You see, I have a goal. A project, of a sort. Something very difficult, maybe even impossible. I will need a team of bright people working with me, but I don't want…" She frowned. "What I need are people I train myself. Who aren't… limited because people have told them that certain things can't be done."

"You're—offering me a job," Desmond says. "You know I wash the dishes, right? I'm not… what you're looking for…" He trails off, heartbeat speeding up even as his sentence trails off. This is… if this is real, if she doesn't suspect him, if this isn't a trap… then this is exactly what he needs. He'll be closer to the Templars than ever before, learning _vital_ information.

"Yes," Sophia says. "I know what you do, but I also know what you _could_ do. I think, Terry, that I have a pretty good nose for things like this. If you come with me, if you get some education, if you let me train you, then you will help me to do important things." She stands, and there's something about her… she's younger than Aguilar, but seems much older. There's a dangerous kind of determination in her eyes that makes Desmond think that he's made a mistake in assuming she's not as important as her father is. Whatever she has in mind… _someone_ needs to know what she's up to. "So are you interested?"

"I… what exactly are you trying to do?" Desmond asks. "What are you training us all _for_?"

When she answers, the smile that accompanies the words is so genuine that Desmond actually almost believes her. "I intend to find the cure to violence," she says.

Desmond gapes at Sophia. Her smile widens. "Well," he said. "Interested is… definitely a good word for what I'm feeling right now."

"Good." She turns to look at Desmond's boss. "I'm giving one week's notice for him. Next Friday will be his last day. After that, he'll be upstairs on the fourth floor." And her eyes stray back to Desmond. "He has a lot to learn."

-/-

Desmond takes his time walking home that night. He'll be late for his meeting with Aguilar, but he's already late anyway and there's nothing he can do about it—besides, he needs to mull over that conversation.

Apparently, he is going to be working closely with an actual Templar, on some harebrained scheme that is sure to mean trouble for the Assassins. There's no way he _could_ pass this up.

As he gets closer to the apartment building, Desmond speeds up a little. He can't _wait_ to see what Aguilar will say about this unexpected development.


	14. Chapter 14

"Don't fight," says the person—a man, Cal can tell now that he's opened his mouth—holding onto Cal's arm.

"Who are you?" Cal demands. "Why shouldn't I fight?"

"Who am _I_?" the man asks. He sounds upset. "Who are you, kid? You're stumbling into the middle of something you cannot possibly understand."

"What do you mean?" Cal knows he can break out of this at any second—it's a tight grip, but at this point he still has his other arm and both legs. He can tell exactly where the man is just from his voice, and it wouldn't be that hard to fight his way out. But he pauses, because the man hasn't hurt him yet. There's no reason to think he'll start. Maybe Cal can risk hearing him out first.

"Chambers," the man growls. "I've watched you and your friend keeping an eye on him. You're getting in my way."

"You're the one that killed him," Cal says. "Right?"

"Well you were taking your sweet time, weren't you? Chambers was dangerous. We're Assassins. He needed to be taken out before he could hurt anyone else."

A sudden flicker of doubt and shame comes to life in Cal's mind. Is he… maybe he's not as good an Assassin as he thinks he is. If this man could just come in and kill the target that Cal and Ezio have been looking at for _ages_ … is that what they should have done?

The man sighs, and Cal feels him reach over to the light. It clicks on, and Cal is face to face with a man, who looks to be in his early thirties, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. He looks… more normal than Cal had expected. "Are you going to let go of me now?" he asks, and the man drops his wrist.

They study each other for a second, and then the man says, "What's your name, then?"

"A—" He doesn't want to say Aguilar. If this man is an Assassin, there's a _chance_ he'll recognize the name. Aguilar lived centuries ago, but—honestly, he and Arno loom so large in Cal's life, he has a hard time remembering that other people might not recognize him. The false name Cal uses at work is Joseph. His father's name, which is sort of uncomfortable, but… his dad at least deserves to be remembered, doesn't he? "Joseph."

"A Joseph," the man repeats. He doesn't sound particularly inclined to believe Cal, which is fair enough. "Do you want to try that again?"

"Not really," Cal says quietly, feeling a bit like a child.

"Maybe you could try a real name."

Cal's mouth narrows into a thin line.

"No? Well, fine." He opens the door for Cal, who only stares at him blankly. "Well, come on, whoever you are. I think we're going to need to have a good long talk about this, and we're not doing it here."

"Why not?" Cal asks, a little defensively. He knows his apartment isn't much, but he knows how to keep it safe and he _does_. He's ready to fight the idea of leaving the apartment, but—

"Because my wife is making pot roast tonight," the man said, as if that explained everything.

"Are you…" Cal hesitates. "Inviting me to dinner?"

"Keep up," the man calls over his shoulder and Cal… follows. Or starts to.

"Wait," Aguilar calls softly, as the man retreats farther down the hallway. "Cal, don't be stupid. You don't know anything about this man. Please tell me you're not going to be lured into a trap by food?"

Cal shakes his head. "Listen," he says, speaking quickly and keeping his eyes on the man's retreating form. "We need to know who he is and—look, he knows where I live." His gaze slides sideways, toward Ezio's door. Ezio hasn't come home yet. He was supposed to be here right after work, they were going to get together and make plans. What if something's happened? Cal's gotten used to worrying about Ezio (he's younger, and until Cal dragged him away from his home, he'd never been anywhere else. But now, with Ezio missing and this stranger breaking into Cal's apartment…

"I'm going," Cal decides, and steps out after the stranger. He locks the door behind him as he leaves, more out of habit than anything else. There almost doesn't seem to be a point. Now that he's been surprised in his own apartment once, Cal can't imagine he'll ever feel safe coming home again.

-/-

The Assassin—he says his name is Parker, which Cal thinks is probably a lie—brings Cal to a surprisingly ordinary house on the outskirts of the city. There's a yard out back, and Cal catches a glimpse of a child's swingset before he's ushered inside.

"You have a kid?" he asks Parker.

"A little girl," Parker says, tone implying that Cal really shouldn't ask any more questions. He decides not to push the issue, because the man has a right to keep his kid out of this if he wants to.

The two of them head inside, where his wife took one look at the pair of them and gave an _extremely_ exasperated sigh. "Not another stray, Parker," she says.

"This one's not a stray," Parker says. " _This_ one an Assassin. Says he is, anyway."

"I'm an Assassin," Cal insists, starting to feel really irritated. This man isn't much better than the people he'd met at the Farm where he'd met Desmond.

"He's teasing you," Parker's wife says flatly. "Don't take anything he says seriously."

"What…?"

"Hmm," Parker says, and the next thing Cal knows, Parker is pushing him down into a seat at the kitchen table, and his wife is dropping a plate of—admittedly really good smelling—food down in front of him. "Here's the thing." He reaches for his own plate as his wife hands it over to him, and points a fork in Cal's direction. "We both know there are Templars here, we've seen them. And since you were… _trying_ to take down Chambers, the same as I was, you must realize that they're a real threat."

Cal nods. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Well," Parker says. "There are a lot of Templars, and not a lot of Assassins. Sad, but true. It's been a long time since this war was a fair fight, Joseph. The Templar's reach gets longer every year, but the Assassins are barely treading water. We can't keep up with all the potential threats, and most of the Brotherhood doesn't seem to think this is a good use of our time."

"But there are Templars here," Cal says.

Parker smiles over at him. "Do you know what?" he asks. "I think I like you, kid."

"I'm not sure I like you," Cal says, but Parker only laughs and waves him off. "I have a proposal for you," he says. "I may have gotten to Chambers before you could, but honestly, that was just luck. You were doing a good job, staking him out, making a plan before you went after him. I just happened to get there a little faster." He shakes his head. "But the point is, I'm an Assassin, you're an Assassin, we both have the same goals and there's plenty of Templars left."

"You want to work together?"

"I know you already have a friend you're working with," Parker says. "But the Assassins are a Brotherhood, Joseph. You need people around you. We all do."

"I'll… think about it," Cal says. "I'll—"

"Daddy! Daddy come _play_!"

Cal starts as he hears the sudden shriek, and when he looks down, there's a little girl running past him, toward Parker.

"Lara," Parker says fondly, lifting her up and onto his lap. She can't be any older than two, and she might even be younger. "Aren't you supposed to be with your mother right now?"

"Don't wanna bath," Lara says, curling up against his chest. "Wanna play."

"This is—uh…" Cal feels totally off balance, suddenly. He hadn't been expecting to see a little girl. Children just don't fit, do they? Not in the life of an Assassin.

"Who that?" Lara whispers, voice carrying easily across the table to Cal.

"We're still working that out," Parker whispers back, leaning in close and giving her a tight squeeze. "But I'm hoping he'll be a new friend."

"Be Daddy's friend," Lara orders him, and Cal can't quite stop himself from grinning. She's a cute kid, curled up there on her father's lap, not a care in the world. It makes Cal wonder if he'd ever been that carefree, back when his parents were still alive. They'd definitely never had a house like this. Just trailers and things, temporary places. But… that hadn't made them any less home, had they?

"Joseph?" Parker says, and Cal realizes he's been lost in thought for a while now. His eyes dart back upward, and he can't quite hide a sigh. Sometimes he thinks that using his father's name as an alias was a mistake. Sure, it's common, and that's nice. No one remembers a Joseph. But there are times when it just… makes him feel homesick, hearing that name.

"Sorry," he says. "What?"

"You will come back," won't you?" Parker asks. "You'll think about my offer?"

"I will," Cal mutters, standing up. He's already turning to go when he hears Parker call after him.

"You know… I knew a Joseph."

"Everyone's known a Joseph," Cal says, pausing but not turning around.

"An Assassin," Parker specifies. "Joseph Lynch."

Cal's suddenly glad he's not facing Parker. He knows his face must be showing his surprise clearly on it right now—he's never… he hasn't spoken to anyone that knew his parents since the day his father killed his mother.

"It's funny, actually," Parker says. "You look a little like him."

"Do I?" Cal asks, voice faint.

"A little."

Cal considers this for a moment. Then he nods, just a fraction. "I'll be back," he promises. "I think we should talk some more."

 **-/-**

 **No Desmond in this chapter, because Cal kind of got away from me. xD**


	15. Chapter 15

There's nobody there, when Desmond gets home. Aguilar's gone, and he can't imagine why. Surely it's not just because Desmond was a little late? He'd hurried back as quick as he could after getting waylaid by Sophia Rikkin, and he's not nearly as late as he could have been.

"Do you think he's okay?" he asks.

He's standing in the hallway outside of Aguilar's room, staring a hole in the door.

"You could always see for yourself, if you find yourself that concerned."

Desmond lets out a little breath. Haytham. He hadn't actually seen anyone show up, but considering the fact that he's alone, he'd felt fairly safe in assuming _someone_ would show up. He just hadn't expected it to be Haytham—the man tended to show up less and less as Desmond got more deeply involved in Assassin business. And since today was supposed to be the day that he and Aguilar were supposed to decide how to kill their very first Templar together, Desmond hadn't expected to see Haytham at all.

"You want me to break in?" he asks.

"I don't particularly want you to," Haytham says, and Desmond can't help a smile at the man's unconcerned tone. He hides it, though, keeping his eyes fixed on Aguilar's door. "But it is an option, if you're worried."

"Not worried enough to just betray his trust like that," Desmond says. "Come on, Haytham, don't you have anything helpful to add?"

"If you ever take up a cause worth helping, I may consider it."

Desmond turns back and glances over his shoulder, to find Haytham giving him a very small, thin lipped smile. Desmond grins back. He's more than used to Haytham's dryness by now.

"I'm not breaking in," Desmond says. "I'm sure he's fine. He's always fine." But he's very reluctant, nonetheless, when he heads into his room and sits on the bed, waiting. Aguilar's going to come back.

"What if the Templars went after him?" Desmond whispers. It's getting dark in his room, but he doesn't feel particularly interested in getting up to turn the lights on. "What if they saw that we were watching them, and decided to go after him?"

He glances up at Haytham, who shakes his head. "I don't think you have to worry about that," he says. "If he'd been found by the Order, they would have come after you, too."

Desmond stares at him, eyes wide. "That's _not_ very helpful," he whispers, and Haytham sighs.

"I know you want to be an Assassin," he says quietly, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. "I have seen the amount of passion and determination you have devoted to this cause. That is why I have never argued with your choice. But have you considered that you may not be _happy_ as an Assassin?"

"What," Desmond says. "And I guess you'd want me to be a Templar instead?"

"No," Haytham says gently. "I would like you to consider leaving this life behind entirely. You are a capable young man, Desmond. You are willing to work, you are intelligent, and you are adaptable. And on top of all that, you have your young lady."

"My what? Oh." Desmond colors. "I wouldn't call Myrtle _my_ anything…. She's just…"

He trails off, not sure what to say next. The truth is, he doesn't know if he likes that Myrtle is _just_. They haven't known each other all that long, in the grand scheme of things, but she's found a way into his life in a way only Aguilar ever has before.

"Desmond," Haytham says quietly. "Do you know where the rest of us are, when we aren't here, speaking with you?"

Desmond shakes his head no. He's asked, of course, but no one has ever given him a straight answer. "Where are you?"

"Within you," Haytham says. "Seeing life through your eyes."

"What—"

Haytham holds up a hand, and Desmond's question dies unasked. He knows by now that Haytham doesn't like to be interrupted. "And that is how I know that this girl means more to you than you would like to admit. That is why I would urge you to focus on her. Because she is someone that makes you happy."

"Being an Assassin makes me happy," Desmond says quietly. He's still working through the revelation that Haytham and the others live _inside his head_ , and it's hard to think clearly enough to form a strong argument. "Working with Aguilar makes me happy."

But Haytham only shakes his head, as though Desmond doesn't understand anything at all, and vanishes. Desmond groans aloud, but—

But the next thing he does is roll over in bed and reach for his phone. He should be worrying about Aguilar and where he is and if he's safe and how to get in touch with him, but right now there's nothing he can do but wait. Aguilar is a capable Assassin. He's either too far gone for Desmond to help, or doing _just_ fine on his own.

So instead, he calls Myrtle.

"Desmond," she says when she answers, and Desmond can't help smiling, because the sound of his name in her voice is maybe the best thing he's ever heard.

-/-

When Aguilar gets home, the first thing he does is make a beeline for Ezio's room. Knocks, and then crumbles a little inside when he hears Ezio call for him to come in. He's worried about him, and so at first when he sees that Ezio is perfectly alright, sitting on his bed without a care in the world, he's relieved. And then, he sees that Ezio is not alone.

"Uh… Myrtle." Cal frowns. "What… are you doing here?"

"I called her," Ezio says, sitting up a little straighter and looks over at Aguilar. "Sorry, I know we had plans today, but I just… you weren't here, and I wanted…"

A red, blotchy flush crawls up his neck and across his face, but when he glances at Myrtle, he's smiling. And so is she.

But only for a second. "I can leave," Myrtle says. "If you two wanted to talk, I mean…"

"No," Ezio says, scrambling up after her as she gets to her feet. "You don't have to go—"

"It's okay," Myrtle says. "You need to talk, and I have homework, so—"

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine."

"It is?"

"Yea." She grabs her bag off Ezio's desk, and turns to give him a quick kiss. "I'll see you soon, right? Congratulations on the new job."

Cal waits until Myrtle's safely outside with the door closed behind her before he says, "New job?"

"Um…" Ezio makes a face. "Yea. Things kind of went crazy today, sorry. I know today was supposed to be the day we make our big plans, but when I got off work Sophia Rikkin was there. Um… it's kind of a long story. But she's starting his initiative…. thing, and she's hiring a bunch of new people for it."

"And… she wants you?"

"Yea." Ezio's smile is somewhere between proud and nervous. "This is good, right? I mean, I'm going to be right in the middle of things. I'll be able to get a _lot_ of intel, right?"

"Yea," Cal says. "I think—yea. Yea it is." He's still thinking about Myrtle. She worries him, because she's distracting Ezio. They can't afford this right now, not while they're finally starting to take action. After a few seconds of silence, he says, "Chambers is dead."

Ezio's head shoots up and he stares at Cal. "Did you kill him?" he asks. "We were only going to talk about—"

"No," Cal says. "It was another Assassin. He knows about us, and he cornered me here earlier, while I was waiting for you—"

"I was with Sophia," Ezio says, raising his hands defensively. "Not much I could do about that."

"I know, I know," Cal says. "But the point is, he cornered me, and we've been talking. He wants us to work with him." He sighs. "I thought it sounded like a really good idea, but I guess if you're going to be working on that…"

Ezio smiles without smiling. There's a kind of resignation behind it that Cal can feel weighing him down too. "It's probably going to take up a lot of your time," he says. "Working with the Assassins."

"And you'll probably be watched a lot closer once you start working with Sophia."

Ezio blinks a couple of times, and looks down at his hands. "So things aren't going to be the same from now on. We're, um… we're not going to be…"

Cal hesitates. Then, with a sharp nod, he sits down next to Ezio. "It's temporary," he says. "You have your path to go down, and I have mine, but we're Assassins, and we've been through a lot, and I just think—we're not done yet, okay? You're… I think of you as a brother, and I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

Ezio grins. "I've… never had a brother before," he says.

"You've had a brother for as long as we've known each other," Cal says seriously. "I just should have something earlier."

"Thanks for saying something now," Ezio says quietly. "I… thank you."

"No problem," Cal says quietly. He gives Ezio a small pat on the back, then stands. "Things are definitely going to change, but… this isn't an ending. I promise."

He stands, planning to head back to his own room, but then he pauses in the doorway and looks back. "Listen," he says, voice a little awkward. "I don't know when we'll get a chance to talk to each other again, so I just want to say—be careful, with Myrtle."

"She's not a Templar," Ezio says, far too quickly and defensively for Cal's tastes.

"I know," he says. "That's not why I'm worried. I just…" He sighs. "You've never had a girlfriend before, have you? They can hurt you in ways that… I don't know if you're ready for that."

"I…" Ezio smiles a little. "I don't think she'll hurt me. And even if she did…" There's a kind of honesty in his face and in his voice that makes it hard to doubt him. "I think she's worth the risk."

"Well," Cal says. "That's your choice."

"Yea," Ezio says. Then, "Thanks, Aguilar. It's still good advice, it's..." He leans over and gives Cal a quick, slightly awkward hug. "I like having you as a brother. My parents didn't really give me advice like that, you know? They weren't there for me like you are. Like you've _been_. So it's just… nice."

Cal reaches toward Ezio, returning the gesture. "Any time," he says quietly.

And then after that they just sit around talking. Everything is going to change soon enough. Ezio will go wherever Sophia wants him to, and Cal will stay here with Parker. He knows they'll see each other again, he just doesn't know _when_.

But for the rest of the night, they don't think about it.


End file.
